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hoosierbitchTitle: Boundaries
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar RPS
Pairing: Matt/Tim
Content Advisory: Watersports, flogging, D/s
Notes: Right. Okay. Back in one ofelrhiarhodan's sentence fests, coffeethyme4me prompted pornstar!AU. This started as a sentence, and now I have this whole plot/world in my head. I'm just writing it all out of order. Uh. Enjoy the porn!
Background: So, the premise of the Pornstar!AU is basically just that White Collar, instead of being a PG show on USA, is a porno series. Same plot, different rating. So, like, Diana gets girl-on-girl scenes, Peter and El have scenes alone together, Jones gets it on in the van with everyone, and Neal and Peter are in a D/s relationship. But that's just the in-front-of-the-camera plotline. The real story is about the actors. Tim DeKay and Matt Bomer were hired to play Peter and Neal, a dream job for both of them. But the lines between who they are onscreen and what they are to each other behind the scenes starts to blur.
Summary: Remember In the Red (the episode with the adoption agency scam) when Sara gets Neal arrested for breaking into her apartment? This is the porno version of what should have happened after that.
*
"You let someone else touch you," Tim growls. "Some other man put his handcuffs on you, you fucking slut."
Matt's tied down, bent over a sawhorse, all of his limbs secured with a rough rope that's rubbing his skin raw (you don't deserve any better, Peter had said before the director had yelled cut and the rigger had tied Matt up carefully to make sure his circulation wouldn't be affected). Tim's behind him now, holding...something. Maybe the paddle, maybe a whip, hopefully not the--fuck.
Tim knows how much Matt hates the cane. Hates the welts it draws. Hates how Tim doesn't have to wind up at all to land a good hit, hates that the tiniest blows hurt so badly but don't raise a mark for a while. It means the scenes have to go on for longer, Matt has to let all of his reactions show. Has to make it good for the audience.
"Fuck you," he spits out, and he'd meant it as Matt, not Neal, meant to be yelling at Tim who would laugh and maybe swat him on the ass and then keep going, but Tim--Tim's still in the fucking scene and after a second he's got the paddle in his hand and he's hitting Matt (Neal, hitting Neal) so hard that he's afraid the sawhorse will tip over.
His thighs hurt. Muscle deep pain, he must already be bruising. Each time the paddle overlays the welts Peter already put on him he shouts.
But Neal wouldn't do that. Neal doesn't think he did anything wrong, Neal doesn't think Peter's right--he wouldn't want to give Peter the satisfaction.
He wraps his hands tight around the legs of the sawhorse, closes his eyes, and fights to hide his reactions. To make Peter work for it. Swears at him every time he pauses to switch instruments. Call him a fuckhead, an asshole, an overbearing son-of-a-bitch.
When Tim gets out the thin rubber flogger and starts spanking his hole, Neal just says It was for Kate.
"What?"
Matt sobs, sobs when Tim stops hitting him, sobs when he leans the paddle against the sawhorse right in his line of sight and puts his hands on Matt's ass.
"The evidence that I stole was from the plane," he says, and he buries his own want and his own pain and the desire to escape and submit in Neal's pain, Neal's needs, Neal's mind.
The tears are Neal's tears. The bruises are Neal's bruises. The failure is Neal's failure, he tells himself when the flogger comes down on his hole over and over and over again, until it feels like the skin's been torn away, until the brush of Peter's breath when he leans in to get a closer look is painful, until the rough texture of Peter's tongue is a new torture.
"Who owns you?" Tim asks, and he wraps his hands in Matt's hair so that his head is pulled up at a painful angle. "Who. Owns. You?"
Tim won't let him look away.
Neal wouldn't answer either, Matt tells himself when Tim lets go and picks up his whip again.
He doesn't manage to keep up the fight for very much longer. Not when Tim's saying you're mine in his deepest, strongest voice, not when the whip strikes without any predictability or mercy, not when he's beginning to confuse Neal's boundaries with his own.
"You're a fuck-up," Tim says, and Matt stops pretending that there is any separation at all.
"I'm a fuck-up," he parrots, cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs. Tim's last swing had hit his balls. There'd be a mark there in the morning. "I'm a fuck-up, I'm a fuck-up, I'm such a--"
"And who do you belong to?"
He forgets about Kate, about Moz, about all the twisted storylines that led Neal to this small dark room and just says "You."
"Say my name," Tim growls, and Matt gives one last desperate tug against the ropes before he sags, and opens his mouth to reply.
Tim, he almost says. I'm yours, Tim.
He's shaking.
"Peter. I'm Peter's." Simon, he tells himself, trying to remember what his partner looks like, what his kisses felt like. I'm...
In pain, a second later, Tim sliding into his hole so much faster than Matt's ready for. He's slick with lube because he'd prepped himself before the shoot, but the audience would think that Peter'd taken him dry. He screams loudly enough to give it some plausibility.
Tim pulls all the way out and slams back in and Matt's not having to do a lot of pretending, not when it feels like Tim's going to tear him apart and maybe not bother to piece him back together.
"You good?" Tim whispers in his ear, his groin pressed tight to Matt's bruised ass, grinding his cock in painful circles.
"Please," he replies, because the rest of his words (Neal, Peter, Matt, Simon) have left him.
"I'll show you who you belong to," Tim says, louder than before because this time it was for the camera. He kisses Matt's neck before he pulls back. A small peck right behind his ear, a sweet little kiss. Matt tightens his hole viciously around the slide of Tim's dick in retaliation.
Peter just laughs, his hands on Neal's hips, fucking his CI like a toy. Matt knows the cameras must be loving this. Tim slaps him on the ass and Matt gasps, the pain rocketing through him. But then--
Tim was supposed to pull out. That's the whole point. The audience is supposed to be able to see it, filthy and cruel, dirtier than they've gotten before, the visual impact was the whole goddamn--Tim pulls out, slams back in, and piss spills out of Matt's hole.
"Oh..." Once more, one more too-hard thrust, and Matt's stomach and arms and ass are spasming like he's been electrocuted. He can feel the wet heat spreading inside his body, feel it dripping down his thighs, smell it surrounding him, marking him.
Then Tim pulls out and pisses on his back.
It hurts. It spills across the welts and cuts and bruises, it covers any inch of his skin that hadn't already been claimed, it hurts because Peter trusts him so little that he has to resort to this. And Neal knows that Peter's right. That he'll take any chance he has to go after Kate, even if it means disappointing Peter. Betraying Peter.
He’s losing track. He’s losing track of who he is and what his character wants because Tim’s urine is drawing hot lines across his shoulder blades, down his ribs and arms and fingers, into his hair. Right against his hole, like Peter’s not happy with the amount of piss Neal already has inside of him.
“Gonna be dripping out of you for days,” Peter says, thrusting back inside so that the last of it ends up deep inside Neal’s body.
He’s shaking again. His legs are cramping and his stomach hurts and his back and thighs and ass are in agony, he can’t think about anything except the huge cock that’s reshaping his body like a punishment.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs, and he can’t remember why or what he did or who he’s supposed to be. His prostate’s getting hit just right with every thrust and his cock’s been dripping steadily (precum mixed with piss spilling onto the floor between his spread legs).
“Good boy,” Tim says, gently, soothingly, like he’s proud, like he’s got nothing to do with the cock that’s thrusting so quickly inside of Matt’s body that it’s making him nauseous. “Good boy,” Tim says again, and Matt comes.
He hears Tim and the director swear, out of the corner of his eye sees the camera guys scrambling to catch it on camera. Doesn’t care. Tim doesn’t slow down. Tim reaches for his dick, touching it for the first time that night with something other than a whip or a flogger, and strokes him through it, tight grip, pulling hard, just the way Matt likes it. Yours, he thinks, tears leaking past his closed eyes, praying that the cameras don’t catch him crying. I want to be yours.
*
Feedback is really appreciated!
Author:
hoosierbitch Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar RPS
Pairing: Matt/Tim
Content Advisory: Watersports, flogging, D/s
Notes: Right. Okay. Back in one of
elrhiarhodan's sentence fests, coffeethyme4me prompted pornstar!AU. This started as a sentence, and now I have this whole plot/world in my head. I'm just writing it all out of order. Uh. Enjoy the porn!Background: So, the premise of the Pornstar!AU is basically just that White Collar, instead of being a PG show on USA, is a porno series. Same plot, different rating. So, like, Diana gets girl-on-girl scenes, Peter and El have scenes alone together, Jones gets it on in the van with everyone, and Neal and Peter are in a D/s relationship. But that's just the in-front-of-the-camera plotline. The real story is about the actors. Tim DeKay and Matt Bomer were hired to play Peter and Neal, a dream job for both of them. But the lines between who they are onscreen and what they are to each other behind the scenes starts to blur.
Summary: Remember In the Red (the episode with the adoption agency scam) when Sara gets Neal arrested for breaking into her apartment? This is the porno version of what should have happened after that.
*
"You let someone else touch you," Tim growls. "Some other man put his handcuffs on you, you fucking slut."
Matt's tied down, bent over a sawhorse, all of his limbs secured with a rough rope that's rubbing his skin raw (you don't deserve any better, Peter had said before the director had yelled cut and the rigger had tied Matt up carefully to make sure his circulation wouldn't be affected). Tim's behind him now, holding...something. Maybe the paddle, maybe a whip, hopefully not the--fuck.
Tim knows how much Matt hates the cane. Hates the welts it draws. Hates how Tim doesn't have to wind up at all to land a good hit, hates that the tiniest blows hurt so badly but don't raise a mark for a while. It means the scenes have to go on for longer, Matt has to let all of his reactions show. Has to make it good for the audience.
"Fuck you," he spits out, and he'd meant it as Matt, not Neal, meant to be yelling at Tim who would laugh and maybe swat him on the ass and then keep going, but Tim--Tim's still in the fucking scene and after a second he's got the paddle in his hand and he's hitting Matt (Neal, hitting Neal) so hard that he's afraid the sawhorse will tip over.
His thighs hurt. Muscle deep pain, he must already be bruising. Each time the paddle overlays the welts Peter already put on him he shouts.
But Neal wouldn't do that. Neal doesn't think he did anything wrong, Neal doesn't think Peter's right--he wouldn't want to give Peter the satisfaction.
He wraps his hands tight around the legs of the sawhorse, closes his eyes, and fights to hide his reactions. To make Peter work for it. Swears at him every time he pauses to switch instruments. Call him a fuckhead, an asshole, an overbearing son-of-a-bitch.
When Tim gets out the thin rubber flogger and starts spanking his hole, Neal just says It was for Kate.
"What?"
Matt sobs, sobs when Tim stops hitting him, sobs when he leans the paddle against the sawhorse right in his line of sight and puts his hands on Matt's ass.
"The evidence that I stole was from the plane," he says, and he buries his own want and his own pain and the desire to escape and submit in Neal's pain, Neal's needs, Neal's mind.
The tears are Neal's tears. The bruises are Neal's bruises. The failure is Neal's failure, he tells himself when the flogger comes down on his hole over and over and over again, until it feels like the skin's been torn away, until the brush of Peter's breath when he leans in to get a closer look is painful, until the rough texture of Peter's tongue is a new torture.
"Who owns you?" Tim asks, and he wraps his hands in Matt's hair so that his head is pulled up at a painful angle. "Who. Owns. You?"
Tim won't let him look away.
Neal wouldn't answer either, Matt tells himself when Tim lets go and picks up his whip again.
He doesn't manage to keep up the fight for very much longer. Not when Tim's saying you're mine in his deepest, strongest voice, not when the whip strikes without any predictability or mercy, not when he's beginning to confuse Neal's boundaries with his own.
"You're a fuck-up," Tim says, and Matt stops pretending that there is any separation at all.
"I'm a fuck-up," he parrots, cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs. Tim's last swing had hit his balls. There'd be a mark there in the morning. "I'm a fuck-up, I'm a fuck-up, I'm such a--"
"And who do you belong to?"
He forgets about Kate, about Moz, about all the twisted storylines that led Neal to this small dark room and just says "You."
"Say my name," Tim growls, and Matt gives one last desperate tug against the ropes before he sags, and opens his mouth to reply.
Tim, he almost says. I'm yours, Tim.
He's shaking.
"Peter. I'm Peter's." Simon, he tells himself, trying to remember what his partner looks like, what his kisses felt like. I'm...
In pain, a second later, Tim sliding into his hole so much faster than Matt's ready for. He's slick with lube because he'd prepped himself before the shoot, but the audience would think that Peter'd taken him dry. He screams loudly enough to give it some plausibility.
Tim pulls all the way out and slams back in and Matt's not having to do a lot of pretending, not when it feels like Tim's going to tear him apart and maybe not bother to piece him back together.
"You good?" Tim whispers in his ear, his groin pressed tight to Matt's bruised ass, grinding his cock in painful circles.
"Please," he replies, because the rest of his words (Neal, Peter, Matt, Simon) have left him.
"I'll show you who you belong to," Tim says, louder than before because this time it was for the camera. He kisses Matt's neck before he pulls back. A small peck right behind his ear, a sweet little kiss. Matt tightens his hole viciously around the slide of Tim's dick in retaliation.
Peter just laughs, his hands on Neal's hips, fucking his CI like a toy. Matt knows the cameras must be loving this. Tim slaps him on the ass and Matt gasps, the pain rocketing through him. But then--
Tim was supposed to pull out. That's the whole point. The audience is supposed to be able to see it, filthy and cruel, dirtier than they've gotten before, the visual impact was the whole goddamn--Tim pulls out, slams back in, and piss spills out of Matt's hole.
"Oh..." Once more, one more too-hard thrust, and Matt's stomach and arms and ass are spasming like he's been electrocuted. He can feel the wet heat spreading inside his body, feel it dripping down his thighs, smell it surrounding him, marking him.
Then Tim pulls out and pisses on his back.
It hurts. It spills across the welts and cuts and bruises, it covers any inch of his skin that hadn't already been claimed, it hurts because Peter trusts him so little that he has to resort to this. And Neal knows that Peter's right. That he'll take any chance he has to go after Kate, even if it means disappointing Peter. Betraying Peter.
He’s losing track. He’s losing track of who he is and what his character wants because Tim’s urine is drawing hot lines across his shoulder blades, down his ribs and arms and fingers, into his hair. Right against his hole, like Peter’s not happy with the amount of piss Neal already has inside of him.
“Gonna be dripping out of you for days,” Peter says, thrusting back inside so that the last of it ends up deep inside Neal’s body.
He’s shaking again. His legs are cramping and his stomach hurts and his back and thighs and ass are in agony, he can’t think about anything except the huge cock that’s reshaping his body like a punishment.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs, and he can’t remember why or what he did or who he’s supposed to be. His prostate’s getting hit just right with every thrust and his cock’s been dripping steadily (precum mixed with piss spilling onto the floor between his spread legs).
“Good boy,” Tim says, gently, soothingly, like he’s proud, like he’s got nothing to do with the cock that’s thrusting so quickly inside of Matt’s body that it’s making him nauseous. “Good boy,” Tim says again, and Matt comes.
He hears Tim and the director swear, out of the corner of his eye sees the camera guys scrambling to catch it on camera. Doesn’t care. Tim doesn’t slow down. Tim reaches for his dick, touching it for the first time that night with something other than a whip or a flogger, and strokes him through it, tight grip, pulling hard, just the way Matt likes it. Yours, he thinks, tears leaking past his closed eyes, praying that the cameras don’t catch him crying. I want to be yours.
*
Feedback is really appreciated!