remember how i said i’m on a White Collar kick? have a long snip (i’m really proud of this fic so far and i pray i can finish it)
Peter parked the Taurus on the street in front of June’s house, and he turned to Neal, his voice so stern and unyielding that Neal immediately wished for the bliss of his silence again the second Peter opened his mouth. “Get your bag. You have five minutes.”
An overnight stay at the Burke’s never boded well for Neal’s backside.
“Ten,” he blurted out, then stammered as Peter’s expression darkened, “I-I mean, I might need ten minutes to pack.”
“You don’t need to pack. You have a bag ready to go, sitting on the floor of your closet of designer suits, just for this purpose.”
He did. Unfortunately, it was a frequent enough occurrence that Neal was dragged to the Burke residence that a packed bag had become necessary, but that didn’t mean Neal was at all eager to go get it. Once he got it, he’d bring it down to the car, then they would go to Peter’s house, and there… well, there Peter would make sure that the few swats he’d given Neal earlier would seem like a walk in the park in comparison.
Peter nodded towards the magnificent house. “Get it, now.”
“I unpacked it,” Neal said without thinking, desperate for an escape from this fate that was starting to look like it was set in stone. He suppressed the urge to wince—it wasn’t a lie, exactly, as he had unpacked the bag at one time, but at this moment, it was most certainly packed and ready to go, upstairs on the floor of his closet of designer suits, just as Peter had said.
Peter held his gaze for about a solid fifteen seconds, then he nodded once, with enough decision that Neal’s stomach plummeted to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something—anything, to backtrack, to mislead, anything that would work—but Peter moved fast, unbuckling his seatbelt and, to Neal’s horror, getting out of the car.
Neal scrambled to follow suit, practically jumping out of the car and leaving the door swinging on its hinges to impede Peter from making it to the front door. “Okay, I’ll get it!”
“You’re stalling.” Peter firmly did not allow Neal to block his path, trudging onwards despite Neal’s best efforts. “So, fine. I’ll get it.”
“No, Peter!” Neal rushed after him. His handler let himself into June’s home and up the stairs like he owned the place, and Neal had never more regretted the fact his handler was required a key to his residence for such an occasion. There was just no stopping him. “This is really unnecessary—”
Peter snorted but didn’t comment, heading straight for the door to the back of Neal’s apartment. Neal stopped in the kitchen, contemplating his options. Well, running was out. Unless he cut his anklet with his kitchen scissors and disappeared into the wind, which was admittedly tempting, but somehow, he couldn’t imagine Peter just giving up and deciding Neal didn’t really need a spanking since he was so willing to run away from it.
No, Neal was pretty sure Peter would just catch him and spank him again for running and throwing his whole deal and potential free future away.
Neal pushed his hands through his hair and paced the floor, unsure what else he could do. Bargain? Plead? He had to come up with something to get out of this. Anything.
Peter came out a couple minutes later with Neal’s bag in hand, and the fierce determination in his face hadn’t dwindled a bit.
“I found it,” Peter interrupted him. “I’m sorry, Neal, you were right; it wasn’t completely packed.”
Neal stopped in his tracks, more than sure that the bag had been fully packed and ready to go, despite his earlier attempts to stall.
“I’ve taken care of it,” Peter assured, and the tight smile he gave Neal was not at all reassuring. “We have everything we need now.”
Neal had never more felt like he’d set his own trap and walked into it. “Maybe I should look through it, just in case—”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Peter slung the bag over his shoulder and gestured towards the door. “I’ve got it.”
Neal worried. Whatever Peter had done, whatever he’d packed that he felt they needed, Neal’s backside clenched in apprehension. It didn’t bode well.
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