hoosierbitch | FIC: "A Nice Dinner," NC-17

Title: A Nice Dinner
Author:

hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neal/Peter
Warnings: Butt plugs!
Notes: This was written for the lovely

katikat, who helped me out when I was desperate for inspiration! If you have an idea for something you want me to write, I would be SO HAPPY if you'd come over and play!
Summary: Neal's been bugging Peter to take him out to a nice restaurant, and Peter finally agrees - with one condition.

*

He squirted a little more lube onto his hand before slicking it onto the plug. "Look at your little hole," he murmured, rubbing his thumb against Neal's entrance, a tease of friction against his sensitive skin. Neal was on his knees, face pressed against the mattress, legs spread. Already breathing heavily and Peter had barely gotten started.

He placed the tip plug against Neal's hole and braced the base against his palm. "Push back." And he held steady while Neal shuffled up onto his elbows and started to press backwards, smiling as he saw Neal's shoulders tense and heard his breath hitch.

The first rounded section slid in easily enough. A solid shove, a surprised gasp, Peter's hands on Neal's hips to keep him from pulling away. "Only two more to go."

Neal nodded and started to move again. The second swell of the plug was bigger - maybe two or three more inches in diameter, and from the muffled shout that Neal failed to bite back when he got past the widest part and his hole clenched down, it wasn't comfortable. Peter reached between his legs and started stroking his cock, teasing at his slit. "One more, Neal. Hurry up - we've got reservations in half an hour."

It took so much longer for the third one to get it. He watched Neal's hole try to expand, the skin of his rim going white and bloodless each time, before Neal pulled back. It was beautiful - but it was taking too long. Peter adjusted his grip on the bast of the plug, grabbed Neal around the waist, and pulled him back.

Neal's arms buckled and he fell forward, another inch sliding in. "So good," Peter whispered, too quietly for Neal to hear him over the steady stream of whimpers spilling out of his mouth. "Just a little - more - " And Neal was clutching at the bedspread, rocking his hips urgently in Peter's grasp.

"Relax," he ordered. And Neal froze, and took a deep breath, and sobbed when Peter gave one last shove and it slid in.

Just a black circle, a bit of rubber, remained visible. He twisted it in a circle and smirked when Neal's whole body convulsed. "Get dressed. You've got..." He checked his watch. "Five minutes." He stood up, brushed his suit off, and went downstairs to make small talk with June.

There was a sheen of sweat already covering Neal's brow when he walked down the stairs. Each step was careful, deliberate, slow. Peter managed to resist the urge to rub himself through his suit (his best suit, which he looked perfectly fine in, no matter what Neal said).

June looked worried. "Neal, are you feeling alright?"

Peter pasted on a worried look and stood up, walking over to feel Neal's forehead. "You do look a bit flushed. Are you sure you're up for going out?"

Neal shot him a quick glare before flashing his winning smile at June. "I'll be fine, I'm just feeling a little under the weather."

"I'll take good care of him," Peter promised her, wrapping an arm around Neal's waist. And if his hand and happened to brush against Neal's ass and linger there for a moment, she would never be the wiser. The flush that flooded Neal's cheeks was worth it.

"We have to go," Neal choked out. Peter said goodbye and escorted Neal out to the Taurus. "You're - you're a bastard," he said as Peter helped him down the steps.

Peter tsked at him. "Language, Neal."

Neal stumbled and fell against Peter's side, his hand fisting in the back of Peter's jacket. "Oh, fuck - "

He held steady while Neal recovered himself. Ran his hand down Neal's back, savoring the tremors that ran through him, the small sounds he couldn't keep to himself. He looked like he was about to come. Eyes tightly shut, face flushed, sweaty, shaking. He tightened his hold on Neal and hurried him down the steps, getting harder with every gasp Neal made, every hitch in his step, every hesitation. Not so graceful now.

Peter opened the door and waited for Neal to sit down. It took him almost a full minute. The plug wasn't just wide, it was long, and every shift in position was a new sensation, a new stretch, a new position that his body had to struggle to accommodate. When Neal was finally seated Peter shut his door, got in the driver's side, punched in the directions, and started driving.

"Touch yourself. If you can come before we get to the restaurant, I won't use the vibrate function until we get back home. If you can't, well..." He slipped his hand into his pocket, grabbed the control, and briefly turned it up to three. Neal's hips shot up off the seat, his mouth fell open, the line of his dick obvious through his pants.

Peter turned it off after a few seconds. "The restaurant's not very far, Neal. I'd get started if I were you."

He ignored Neal during the drive. He had to. It was either ignore him or crash. The sounds alone - Christ. Neal was jerking off frantically, eyes closed, and Peter had never been more grateful for the tinted windows in the new Taurus model.

But when they pulled up, Neal's cock - sticking out obscenely from the pants and boxers shoved down around his thigh, red and dripping - was still hard.

Peter leaned over and pulled some napkins out of the glove compartment. He wiped the sweat off Neal's forehead and then some of the precum off his dick. Neal thrust urgently against Peter's hand, whimpering when he pulled away.

Neal got out of the car quicker than he got in, which was good, because the valet was already looking at them funny. He wrapped an arm around Neal's waist and pretended everything was normal. Neal was his young, beautiful boyfriend, they were out for a romantic dinner, he wasn't desperate to take Neal to the bathroom and fuck his mouth.

The waiter showed them to a corner booth, handed Peter the wine list, and left. Neal had obvious difficulty sitting down, and Peter hovered over him, holding his elbow and assisting him.

"How's your back?" He asked loudly, in case any of the other diners were looking too closely, before moving to his side of the booth. Neal just glared. "Oh, don't be like that. You're the one who said you wanted to go out to a nice restaurant!"

"Yes, but I didn't - " Peter slid the control up to the fifth level and Neal gasped. "Hate you," he moaned, and leaned back against the booth, hips undulating slowly, fucking himself on the plug. Peter let him go for a few seconds, but when his hand crept towards his groin, he clicked it off.

"Pick out your appetizer, Neal. Something that would go well with a dry white - we'll get red with dessert. Or maybe a nice Australian Chardonnay - they've got a wonderful selection." He put the wine list to the side and opened up his menu. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to decide before then. We're in no hurry, after all." Neal whimpered.

He looked about a breath away from crying the entire meal. Eyes tight, lips pressed together, pleading with Peter as much as he could without saying anything. Peter'd have to do this more often.

He used the vibrate function sparingly. Not that often. Just - whenever Neal was lifting his wine glass to his lips, or if he smiled to big at the waitress, or started to relax too much. Or if he just...felt like it. By the time they finished their entrees Neal was trembling. Peter ordered a slice of cheesecake and decided on the red.

"Pull the tablecloth over your lap," he said quietly after the waitress left. "Then keep your hands on the table. Sit back in your seat and spread your legs."

After Neal did as he asked Peter lifted his foot, rested it on the edge of Neal's seat, and pressed the sole of his shoe against Neal's cock. Neal hunched over the table and Peter pressed harder, increasing the pressure until Neal let out a small, helpless sound. Until he was sure it hurt.

It was late, and by then the surrounding tables were mostly empty. A small family and an old couple were the only ones who were close enough to see the way Neal started rubbing himself off against Peter's shoe. The sweat that dripped down his temple, the pain in his expression. "Tell me what it feels like," he said, honestly curious.

When Neal slowly lifted his head and looked at him, Peter's breath caught in his throat. He looked - he looked broken open, pressed to his limits and beyond, helpless to hide his feelings and hating it and desperate. He opened his mouth to answer and Peter turned up the vibrator as high as it would go.

Neal sobbed, loud enough that people turned to stare, and Peter came. He wasn't touching himself, hadn't meant to come, but Neal had sobbed and pressed his cock even harder against Peter's foot and hadn't for a second lost eye contact. He left the vibrator on as he rode the aftershocks, semen spreading in his boxers.

"We're leaving," he ordered when he caught his breath, pulling his wallet out and yanking out enough cash to leave a very sizable tip. He held his coat in front of his groin and pulled Neal up too quickly. He let out another groan, utterly failing to stifle it in Peter's shoulder. He had to practically carry him. Neal might have been able to support more of his own weight if Peter turned the vibrator off - but he was't feeling particularly generous. "He's not been feeling well," Peter explained to the old couple who'd been staring at them. "I'm taking him home."

"Did you - did you come?" Neal gasped when they were both back in the car.

"Yes," Peter said. "And if you want to come at all tonight, you're going to have to do it before we get back to the apartment. Only one catch - " Neal whimpered. "You're not allowed to touch yourself." Neal closed his eyes and nodded. Peter turned the vibrator down to three, laid a hand on Neal's thigh, and started driving.

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