He hadn’t known what he was getting into, back in the beginning. When it was just dates in nice restaurants and lazy picnics in the park, getting familiar with Elizabeth and Peter and their happy suburban life, as American as white bread and apple pie.
A month in El gives him the complete tour of their toy collection.
“You could start your own store with all of this,” he says, reaching out but not actually touching a dildo that’s about as big around as his forearm.
“Haven’t used that one in a while.” She takes it down and hefts it in her palm, demonstrating the sheer weight of the monstrous thing. “You want to give it a shot? Peter’s not the biggest fan of pegging, so we don’t play with them that often – I’m really more a fan of vibes, myself.”
He just about swallows his tongue with surprise. “You fuck Peter?”
“It’s called a prostate, Neal.” He tries to look away from El’s perfectly manicured fingers slowly moving up and down the giant dildo. “Oh, baby. We are going to have so much fun with you…”
She’s not sure that she’s seen anything more tantalizing than Neal Caffrey biting his lip while picking out which dildo he wants her to fuck him with. “There’s so many colors,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I don’t – so many textures…”
“Do you want me to pick?” He nods and she pushes him out of her way and back towards Peter, whose been watching them with a bemused smile on his face. “A bit bigger than last time okay?” He nods and she grabs a medium sized dildo, a dark blue, nice and firm.
“Take your shirt off, Neal. Your vest and your shirt – we want to look at you." He shivers, but obeys. She feels intoxicated. The vest is off and his shirt's unbuttoned and when she traces her fingers over his stomach he shivers. "Perfect," she murmurs as he slips the shirt off of his shoulders and stands revealed before them.
Neal's submissive in a way that neither she nor Peter have ever been. He follows when they lead, he kisses back eagerly but doesn't initiate, he trembles when they touch him but his hands on her shoulders don't move to her breasts until she reaches up and moves them.
Neal’s still standing, shirtless and breathless and she sits on the bed and tugs him back to stand between her knees. He stands still while she wraps her hand around his hips and unbuttons his pants, as she strokes his cock through his boxers. Peter's hand joins her after a few seconds, and Neal gasps. And just keeps gasping, like a diver coming up from deep water, as Peter steps closer and grinds his cock hard against Neal's.
"Is this good?" Peter asks. "Is this okay?" Neal makes a strangled sound and comes, her hand trapped between them, Peter's dick against the back of her hand.
"Uh," Neal says, after an awkward pause. "Apparently, I left my virility in my other suit. And possibly also my dignity."
She slips a hand into the slit of his boxers and fondles his softening cock. It's a bit smaller than Peter's, which is to be expected, given that her husband's hung like a porn star. And it's wet with semen, which makes for sticky lube as she strokes him. "Oh, fuck, Elizabeth - I can't get hard again. I need a few minutes - "
"I thought I was in charge tonight?" she says, with a hint of threat in her voice. Neal trembles but nods.
"Yes," he gasps, and his cock jumps in her hand. "You are. I’m sorry."
"Good. Peter’s not going to suck your cock until you get hard again. Peter - get a washcloth. Neal - tell me how you like your handjobs."
"Fuck, you’ve got a dirty mouth," he says, leaning against her, letting her take some of his weight.
"Well, I watch a lot of porn," she says, and grins when his cock jumps again. "You like that? You want to watch some with us?"
"Oh," he says, as his cock starts to harden. "You're evil."
"Tell me how you like it."
"A bit softer," he says quietly, looking down at her hand stroking his cock. "Long strokes - all the way from the - the base - " she does as he says and twists her hand when she gets to the head. Peter comes back just in time to catch Neal as he hunches forward.
"No," he says. "Do that - do it again." She does, over and over, and Peter's eyes are dark when he looks at her over Neal's shoulder. "Peter, I'm - I might not last very much longer."
She lets go and scooches back on the bed. "Strip and come on up here.” He pushes his pants and boxers down his legs and steps out of them. He stands and lets them look at him, his ribs and neck and stomach, nervous and excited and waiting for her to tell him what to do.
There's something - something illicit about Neal being naked while she and Peter are still clothed. Something powerful that sparks between her legs - she likes it, whatever it is. She lies down on the bed and takes him with her. She sits up against the headboard and Neal rests against her, his shoulders against her stomach, his head between her breasts. She's got a perfect view for the main event. And a perfect view of Peter cleaning the semen off of Neal's cock and balls. He's careful and curious and meticulous, and Neal’s already thrusting against Peter's hand.
Peter takes the head of Neal's dick between his lips but has to pull back when Neal thrusts forward helplessly. "Peter – I think you’re going to have to hold my hips down." Peter obeys. His hands look huge on Neal's hipbones, they need to fatten him up. Peter’s getting better at his blowjobs but Neal’s control seems to be fraying the more they fuck. The more he relaxes, the more he trusts them, the quicker he comes. It’s starting to really turn her on.
He comes before Peter finishes licking his cock (up and down and back again, she hadn’t known her husband was such a tease) and when Peter pulls away she sees that he's left red marks on Neal's body. "Are you okay?" she asks. Neal puts his hands over Peter's handprints and she has to swallow her arousal.
"I don’t mind," he says with a shrug. "I bruise easy. Kate liked to leave marks, too."
“My turn,” she whispers, because whenever Neal mentions Kate she wants to fuck him so hard he won’t remember any name but hers. Well, hers or Peter’s, she’s not picky. “Peter – get behind him and hold him open, okay?” Neal whimpers before she even touches him. Peter obeys, taking her place behind Neal’s back, wrapping his hands around the back of Neal’s knees and pulling them up until he’s bent practically in half.
In her experience there’s nothing better for getting someone in the mood to get fucked than a really thorough rim job. And Neal’d cleaned himself out in preparation so there’s nothing stopping her. She licks at his rim and then just fucks him with her tongue. Neal makes the most amazing noises. Writhing in Peter’s hands, muscles convulsing around her tongue, begging like a porn star.
When he’s reduced to saying fuck me over and over, she obliges. Slicks herself up with lube and presses the dildo against his hole. “Relax, baby.” He nods and looks up at her, wide-eyed and surprised, and she slides in a few inches. She goes slowly until she finds his prostate, and then she just rocks in, just shifting her weight, pressing right up against it.
Peter wraps one arm around both of Neal’s legs and keeps them pulled up, then uses his free hand to jack Neal off. She forgets, sometimes, just how strong Peter is. But with Neal trembling in his hands, the muscles of his arms flexed and sweaty – she’s going to fuck him as soon as she’s done fucking Neal, get his cock inside of her, ride him until they both collapse.
Neal’s hard again already and he comes for the third time with her fake cock in his ass and Peter’s teeth biting into the flesh of his shoulder. He comes for the fourth time watching her ride Peter to her second climax.
She cleans up her toys and her boys and slides into bed with them, already thinking about which dildo she’s going to use next…
“Ask me for it.”
“For – for what?”
“Ask me to fuck you, Neal, or I’m not going to move.” He moans, and it’s hot and sexy and pitiful, but she’s got more self-control than that.
“Please fuck me, El, I want you to fuck me – ”
This strap-on is one of Neal’s favorites. Most of the vibrating dildos have a bullet tucked in the base, which is wonderful once she’s all the way in, but this one’s got the vibe right up in the tip. She presses just a little into his hole, just enough to stretch it, just enough to tease him, and cranks up the power.
“Now. What do you want me to fuck?”
His whole body shivers, she watches it work down his spine, the tense muscles of his back. “I want you to fuck my hole.”
“Adjectives are your friend, honey.” She scrapes her nails over his ass and then pets the red marks she leaves behind.
“Fuck my – fuck my…”
“Greedy? Sore? Needy?” His blush is spreading down the back of his neck. “Greedy, Neal. Ask me to fuck your greedy hole.”
He tries to press back, ass tilting up as he moves his hips, tries to take what he hasn’t earned. She pulls out and spanks his hole a few times in retaliation. The cheeks of his ass are tight and firm, she doesn’t even need to make him hold himself open, she can just smack him to her heart’s content. She stops well before that point, though, this time. And then presses back in with just the tip and waits for him to catch his breath. She’s got one hand wrapped around the shaft to keep it steady, and the vibrations are strong enough that it’s almost uncomfortable.
“Fuck my hole,” he says. “My – fuck my greedy hole, El, fuck my little hole with your huge cock, please – ”
She firmly believes that good behavior should be rewarded so she fucks the rest of the way in on one smooth thrust. He doesn’t manage to say anything coherent the rest of the night.
The sex is amazing. And sometimes it scares him, sometimes it pushes his limits, sometimes it makes him uncomfortable right up until the point that it makes him lose his mind with pleasure – but nothing scares him more than the first time that they don’t have sex. He and Peter make out on the couch until Peter pushes him off with a laugh and turns up the volume on the TV. And he turns to El, starts kissing her neck, and she murmurs something about a presentation in the morning and he’s left watching a football game he doesn’t care about with a hard-on that he doesn’t know what to do with.
And he sits there hard and confused for fifteen minutes before he bids them good night and goes home. He tries to jack off in the shower but can’t. Every memory or scene he can imagine morphs into El or Peter telling him no. Telling him they don’t want him. He goes to bed hard but wakes up from his nightmares soft.
The next night he goes over to their house again and they fuck before dinner’s even ready. He’s so grateful he can barely concentrate. He knows he overdoes it, fucking back onto Peter’s cock too hard and fast, sobbing as he sucks on El’s clit, knows they’re perceptive enough to notice so he tries to fuck them hard enough they won’t care.
After dinner they settle on the couch again, Peter with his work files and El with a portfolio of tablecloth samples, and Neal feels absolutely wretched. He does his best not to fidget, tries to focus on the random book of poetry he pulled off their shelf, but he can barely think past the bundle of nerves building up in his stomach.
He gets up and goes to the kitchen and drinks a full glass of water and tries not to think about how things had gone wrong with Alex, the way the fire between them had died so quickly. His ass is sore from Peter’s cock, his lips still a bit swollen, he wants to get on his knees and offer them everything but if the fire’s dying, if they’re letting him down slowly, if they don’t even realize it’s happening – he’s not going to make it harder for them. Not going to fight them for something he never should have gotten in the first place.
He walks Satchmo and tries to think of an excuse not to go home. Eventually he comes to the conclusion that he’d rather be alone than ignored. They both kiss him goodnight and invite him over again the next day.
He doesn’t go back. Not for a few days. Not until Friday, which is always a big night for them. Play a little rough, leave a few marks that’ll fade before Monday but deep enough that they’ll get to see them on Saturday morning. He shows up pre-lubed and ready to go and then spends an hour and a half making fresh pasta from a recipe Elizabeth’d found. It’s delicious and filling and a fun way to pass the time, but after they finish eating, instead of moving on, Peter just pours them all more wine and settles back in at the dining room table.
“Dinner was lovely,” he says when they hit ten o’clock without showing any sign of leaving the table. “But, uh – are we going to take this party up to the boudoir any time soon?”
Peter and Elizabeth exchange a private glance and his skin prickles all over with the realization that they’ve been talking about him behind his back. Waiting for him to screw up. So. This is how it ends. He stares down at the remnants of his homemade dinner and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Are you – ” Peter’s got his determined-but-uncomfortable face on and El’s working the ‘I’m here to listen, not to judge’ expression like it’s going out of style. “Are you a sex addict?”
“What?” Of all the things he’d been expecting them to ask, that was definitely not on the list. “Are you serious?”
“It’s okay if you are,” El says. “We won’t think any differently of you.”
“I went five years without having sex.” Four of them had been while he was in his cell in prison, but, still. “I’m not a fucking addict.” He doesn’t need the sex. Not the toys or the fucking or the orgasms. He just…“I just wanted to stay the night.” And he wishes furiously that he was a sex addict, it couldn’t possibly be any more embarrassing. Pathetic. No wonder they were trying to break up with him, they were married, they didn’t need his – they didn’t need him. “I just meant – it’s Friday, so, you know, I thought we’d have a little extra fun.” He shrugs and takes a sip of wine and does his best to relax. Fights down the absurd desire to whistle casually or yell or leave.
“Let’s go up to the bedroom,” Peter says. And they clean up the table in an awkward silence that Neal doesn’t know how to decipher.
They go upstairs and El strips him of his clothes, Peter pulls him into bed, and then they just fucking lay there. “Come on, guys, I’m losing wood here,” he says with a smirk. And it’s a lie because he’s too nervous to get hard.
“We’re going to sleep,” El says. “You and me and Peter. We’re going to fall asleep and tomorrow we’re going to make food and hang out and not have sex. And we’re going to do the same thing on Sunday. You don’t have to fuck us to earn spending time with us,” she says, and he has to turn away at that because the epiphany of it hits him like a punch in the gut.
He spends most of the week stranded somewhere between uncomfortable and terrified. They fuck on Monday but not again until Friday. And on Saturday he sits on the couch, pressed up against Peter’s side, the New York Times spread across his lap, and – just – relaxes.
The sex is amazing. But it isn’t everything.
Neal likes getting fucked more than any other person she’s ever met. Likes getting fucked and sucked and rimmed, loves being filled, loves being insulted and humiliated – what it boils down to, she learns, is that Neal just wants their attention. He practically vibrates when they make him the focus of their lovemaking, gets a bit flustered and intense when they listen too intently to him during conversations – and on the flipside, he gets nervous when he feels left out or ignored. He’s settling in, slowly – starting to relax and trust that they haven’t forgotten him, won’t stop caring for him.
But sometimes he needs to be reminded. And that’s okay, that’s fine – sometimes she needs to be taken dancing or Peter needs to be surprised with lunch at work, they all have different ways of reassuring themselves. Neal never comes out and asks for it. Doesn’t ask for much of anything, to be honest – but after rough cases or busy weeks or events that take up days of her time, he needs them.
Most of the time they take turns. She’ll fuck him open and then Peter will take over, they’ll switch back and forth until Neal can’t tell them apart, and then once more just to make sure the message’s gotten through. You’re ours. We love you. We’re not letting go.
He almost always wakes up before Peter and El in the mornings. The sound of Satchmo wandering the house pitifully searching for a way outside, the clatter of his nails on the wood – in his profession, being a light sleeper’s kind of a necessity.
He throws on one of Peter’s shirts and work-out shorts and takes Satch for a run. The sun’s just about up when they get back, and he starts making breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast and freshly-squeezed orange juice. El’s fully dressed when she comes downstairs, which is a bit unusual, but he doesn’t think anything of it until she walks up behind him, kisses his neck, and presses their bodies together.
He spills milk on the counter instead of in a glass (it’s a mess, not a metaphor) and then just concentrates on breathing. “El, is that – are you – ”
She grinds up against his ass, the fabric of her jeans rough through his shorts, the hard line of her cock clear as day. “Want me to fuck you before you finish cooking, or after?”
“Now,” he whispers. Milk starts to drip off the counter, the eggs are sitting in a bowl waiting to be mixed, a stack of bread waiting by the toaster-oven, and the only thing he can think about is Elizabeth’s cock.
She slips her hand into his shorts and he reaches back to palm her through her pants. He’s already fully hard, slick with enough precum that El’s hand slides easily down his shaft. His fingers are clumsy on the button of her jeans but he gets the zipper down quickly. He tries to turn around, get a better grip, but she squeezes the hand around his cock to hold him steady. “Stroke it,” she says, and he jerks her off as best he can at the awkward angle.
He hasn’t ever pretended, before, that she’s actually got a dick – but something about the position, about the heat of her breath on her neck, the confident strokes on his cock, the insistent thrust of her hips against his ass – it feels different. It’s freaking him out and turning him on and thankfully she lets him stop stroking the dildo and tells him to just hang onto the counter. She gets a small bottle of lube from her pocket and slides his shorts down just enough to give her room. He can’t spread his legs very far, but he tries, tries to tilt his hips and get her as far inside of him as he can.
“Gonna fuck you,” she whispers, which he thinks is a bit redundant, given that the head of her cock’s already pressing against his hole. “And then you’ll finish making breakfast, all fucked-open and loose. And after breakfast I’ll fuck you again while you wash the dishes. Bend you over the sink – ” she shoves inside of him so hard he almost loses his balance. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he moans, wonderful how the hell he’s going to get through breakfast with the anticipation of another fucking sitting heavy in his stomach.
“Jerk yourself off.” He rests his weight on his left hand and obeys, sliding his hand past the waistband of the shorts, he comes and Elizabeth just laughs when he tries to clean himself up. “Maybe after lunch,” she says. “If you’re very, very good.”
She tucks herself back in and walks away. He stares at the ingredients spread out on the counter and tries to concentrate on that instead of the mess he’s just made in Peter’s shorts.
“Good morning,” Peter sings happily, walking into the room. He walks up behind Neal and presses up against his back to kiss him – Neal feels Peter’s erection and wants to cry. Goddamn déjà vu.
Peter likes to watch. When he’s tired or down or just in a bad mood, he likes to sit in the chair in the corner of the bedroom and watch her fuck Neal. Likes to jerk off as she fucks him with inflatable plugs or brings out the nipple clamps and chastity devices. He doesn’t give directions or say anything – the weight of his gaze is enough. El gets hot and Neal gets nervous, it always takes an orgasm or two before he stops performing and starts responding.
“You’re so hot,” she whispers in his ear, her torso pressed against his back, sweaty and too-hot and already tired. Her hand’s covered in his come – she makes sure Peter has a good view and holds her hand up for Neal to lick it off. He moans, the whole time, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s thorough, as always, licking it off every bit of her hand, between her fingers, the whole of her palm, long steady strokes of his tongue.
“Such a slut,” she says, grinding her hips in a slow circle that makes his whole body jump. She leans back and unbuckles the strap-on from her harness. “Fuck yourself with it,” she orders.
She leans back against the headboard and watches her husband watch Neal fuck himself with the dildo. Peter’s just stroking his balls, trying to hold back his orgasm, waiting for Neal to finish. It’ll take a while, she knows, watching Neal’s stuttering attempts to build up some kind of rhythm, white-knuckled fingers awkward around the base of the dildo.
She gets off the bed and grabs a bullet vibe. Presses it right against her clit and comes within minutes – when she opens her eyes again both of them are staring at her. Peter’s gripping the base of his cock and Neal’s desperately trying to fuck himself, his hips thrusting helplessly forward, precum dripping off his cock and onto the bedspread.
She grabs hold of the dildo and lets Neal collapse onto the bed, fucks him hard and fast as he ruts against the mattress. Her arm’s starting to get tired. “Come on, you little whore. Hurry up or I’ll tie you up and leave you hard and desperate for the rest of the night.” She won’t really do it, probably. Definitely won’t if Neal tells her not to – but he still tightens up in a hurry, hips arching back off the bed, his whole body curling forward when he comes. She rocks the dildo in gentle circles until he finishes.
Peter walks over to the bed and caresses Neal’s face before nudging his mouth open. Neal can barely hold his head up but he does the best he can. Peter doesn’t need much, he comes pretty quickly, and Neal swallows lazily – a bit drips out of his mouth and she leans forward to lick it off his chin. And then licks the tip of Peter’s cock, kisses the softening length of him.
“Feel better?” Peter nods and gives Neal a quick kiss before joining them in bed. She curls around him, spooning him tightly, and Neal settles into the circle of Peter’s arms.
The next time Peter goes out of town she fucks Neal in every room of the house. First on the stairs with his knee hiked up over the railing and her nails digging into his hips. Then twice in the backyard at night, he bites his hand bloody holding back his moans – can’t risk the neighbors (and the 20-plus guests at their BBQ) getting the right idea. Then on the floor of the living room until his knees are red with carpet burn, on the counter in the kitchen with olive oil for lube, in the spare bedroom with his limbs stretched out and tied to the bedposts.
They don’t fuck in the master bedroom. There they just sleep, wrapped around each other like they’re hiding from the cold, the dip on the left side of the bed undisturbed.
By the time Peter gets home she’s not sure if Neal’s even up for being fucked again. He shivers when she brushes even the tips of her fingers over his hole, the rim red and sore, the flesh inside of him practically bruised from the force of her repeated fucking. But Peter had been in charge of planning for their last anniversary, it’s her turn to treat him - and since it’s only a week away she figures that this can count as an early present.
She positions Neal just the way Peter likes him. Up on the bed, on his knees, legs spread wide, hands laced behind his head. She lubes him up and when Peter gets home she puts a cock ring on him and then sits on the bed. And tells Peter, in excruciating detail, about every single thing they did without him. Neal comes twice before she’s finished and then again when she takes the cockring off and lets Peter come inside of him.
Neal’s a bit shaky, when he’s done. Shaky and fucked out and he’s got the most beautiful smile on his face. “Welcome home,” he whispers.
Peter beams down at him and traces the line of his lower lip with his finger. “It’s good to be back,” he says. They fall asleep wrapped up in a messy, sweaty pile, Peter’s body filling the empty spot on the bed, keeping them all warm.