Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9289226.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      White_Collar
  Relationship:
      Peter_Burke_-_Relationship, Neal_Caffrey_-_Relationship, mention_of_OMC_-
      Relationship, Peter/Neal
  Series:
      Part 4 of The_Wonder(ful)_Years_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-11 Words: 2609
****** Love is a Danger (Of a Different Kind) ******
by elrhiarhodan
Summary
     Set early in the Wonder(ful) Years 'verse, when Peter and Neal are
     freshmen at Harvard (circa 1983). Neal wants to go all the way, but
     Peter wants to hold off for a bit. He has his reasons.
Notes
     Written for
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=144.1]
kanarek13 on the occasion of her birthday. I know that this is a story she's
been longing for. It doesn't quite get there - the story has epic potential and
like most Wonder(ful) Years stories, it needs to be told in several parts.
Also written for the prompt that [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/
userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=144.1]kanarek13 left for me on my Trope Bingo card:
"College/highschool - the one thing I definitely still want to read is Peter
and Neal's first time in the WY verse, you know, they talked and made up and
wanted to finally do it on the weekend :D Or anything in the WY verse, there
are still so many tales to tell there."
Title from the Eurythmics song, "Love is a Stranger"
See additional author's notes at the end of the story.
See the end of the work for more notes
Objectively, Peter knew that he wasn't going to die of blue balls. But it was
hard to be objective when you were hard. All the time.
Neal was being such a little bastard, walking around their dorm suite in a
towel and little else. Or coming back from a run or a workout in sweat-soaked
nylon running shorts and little else. Or studying in their room, wearing just a
pair of extremely tight jeans and little else.
The worst of it was that Neal knew just what he was doing to him. Because half
– no, three-quarters – no, one hundred percent of the time, Neal would look at
him, look at his crotch, note the developments, and smirk.
The thing was, it wasn't as if Peter wasn't getting any. He and Neal shared a
bed every night and there was rarely a night when they didn't both get off.
Several times. Hand jobs, blow jobs, more hand jobs. Some nights (okay, most
nights) Peter would hump Neal, ride his cock between that perfect ass until his
jizz erupted all over Neal's buttocks and back.
Sometimes, Neal would turn the tables on him. He'd perch over his body, his
cock hanging down, just brushing Peter's lips, tantalizing him, tormenting him,
and he'd stay there, not moving, not letting Peter give him pleasure, while he
just fucking breathed on his cock.
Breathed. Not even panted. He. Just. Breathed. And Peter would come.
It was so humiliating. And exciting.
The problem was that Neal wanted to go all the way. He wanted him to break that
last barrier between them. Okay, so "break" was probably not a good word, and
since Neal wasn't a girl, there wasn't a "barrier",
He wanted Peter to fuck him. To put his cock up his ass.
As he'd been to taunting him, to take him like a man.
Which shouldn't have been a problem. It wasn't as if Peter didn't know what to
do. He'd done it several times in high school. Not only with Elizabeth - which
wasn't all that bad, it just wasn't what he really wanted. Which wasn't to say
that Peter hadn't gotten what he really wanted.
He'd fucked the catcher on the varsity baseball team, Avery Phillips, more than
a few times. The guy loved it and Peter felt like he finally knew who he was.
It would have been perfect, except that Avery hadn't really been who he wanted
to fuck.
And there was the time he'd gone down to New York City, a few days after his
seventeenth birthday…
 
That might have been the only time he'd outright lied to his parents. He and a
few of the guys from his high school hockey team had gotten tickets for the
nosebleed seats for a game against the Flyers at the Garden. The guys had gone
to the game, but Peter had taken off by himself and made his way to the West
Village.
He'd had some strange notion that it was time to get his cherry popped.
Peter cruised along Christopher Street, trying to see into the bars. There were
gay men everywhere, and their eyes on him. Older guys, younger guys. Some guys
(a lot of guys) in leather, others dressed up like girls. Peter had nearly lost
his nerve when he got carded twice, but the bouncer at the third place he tried
- the one that smelled more like weed than piss and beer - let him in without
question.
His voice almost broke when he'd ordered a beer. The bartender smirked at him
as he pushed the glass over to him. "Your first time?"
Peter had wondered if he should answer, but had figured there was no point in
being rude. "I've had beer before."
"I mean, first time in a place like this?"
The guy's eyes seemed friendly, or maybe it had just been the way the neon
reflected in them. Peter nodded tersely.
"I'm going to give you a bit of advice, kid. Go slow. It's a great big candy
shop out there, no point in making yourself sick before you see all that's
available."
Peter took a sip and thanked him.
The bartender had laughed. "You private school kids, always so polite."
"Not private school." Peter still wasn't sure why he'd corrected the man.
"Westchester, then. Long Island boys tend to be a little rougher around the
edges, a little more macho when they come sniffing around, looking for the down
and dirty. To get their cherry popped."
"It's that obvious?"
"Oh, kid - I've seen hundreds just like you. You're all nervous, with great big
eyes and sweaty palms. You're not sure if you want romance or just a hard fuck
in the john."
Peter had felt his cheeks grow hot. He muttered into his beer glass. "I
probably should just go home." Technically, he wasn't a virgin, but he was, in
a way.
"You probably should, especially if you're looking for roses and chocolates and
happily ever afters. You won't find that on Christopher Street. But if you want
a guy to show you the ropes and won't do anything you don't want, I might be
able to help."
"Seriously?" Peter wasn't sure if he should accept this rather bizarre offer of
assistance.
The bartender nodded. "Trust me."
Peter had felt like an idiot. The bartender was a stranger and for all he knew,
he was being set up to get robbed, raped and possibly killed. Coming here was a
bad idea.
But before Peter could get up, a man had sat down next to him. "Hey there."
Peter had muttered 'hi' into his beer and wondered if he was going to have a
problem leaving.
"Charlie, here, says you're looking for some 'education'." The guy reached over
and traced a delicate line on his hand with a single finger.
Peter looked over at the man sitting next to him. He wasn't bad looking, or
maybe kind of good looking, if you liked the Magnum, P.I. look - bushy
mustache, obviously permed hair, lots of muscles. There was also a strange red-
purple blotch on his neck - it didn't look like a hickey. "I might be. Or maybe
not."
The man laughed and it wasn't a nice sound. "What the hell does that mean? You
leading me on, kid?"
Peter put the glass down and got up. "No, I'm not. I made a mistake coming
here. I've got some friends waiting for me." He dropped a five on the bar and
didn't wait for the change.
They guy called after him. "Go home to your mama and your girlfriend. She'll
never give you what you really want." Other patrons in the bar had started
jeering at him and Peter had been relieved to reach the street unmolested. The
mid-November night was almost cold and Peter walked quickly to the subway
station. It had taken him less than ten minutes to get back to Penn Station and
another ten minutes to get into his seat at the Garden.
"You okay?" Clinton looked over at him as he took his seat.
"Yeah, fine." Peter signaled one of the vendors for a beer. Even though it was
the same brand, this one had tasted a hell of a lot better than the one he'd
been served downtown.
Thinking back on that weird evening, Peter wondered if it was the reason why he
was so reluctant to go all the way with Neal. He'd told himself that Neal was
too young - not yet seventeen. That they should wait.
But that was really not the truth. They'd done everything but that - what
difference did it make? It wasn't like Avery hadn't had been fifteen the first
time Peter screwed him in the showers.
Maybe it was because he really hadn't cared about Avery Phillips, other than a
general liking for how he sucked dick and caught pop-up fly balls. He cared
about Neal. He loved Neal and wanted it to be perfect for him.
Neal walked into their dorm room, stripped out of his sweaty gym clothes and
walked around the room stark naked. Peter gritted his teeth and tried to
concentrate on the problem he needed to solve for his advanced calculus
homework. Five excruciating minutes later, Neal was still naked.
"Aren't you going to put some clothes on?" Peter didn't look up from the book.
"Nah. Dan's in the shower - he'll be out in a few minutes."
"There are two showers, you know."
"Not today - the second one's backed up again. Maintenance won't be up until
Monday." Neal still made no move to cover himself. In fact, he flopped down on
the bed next to him and Peter all but lost control.
Neal smelled like sweat and heaven - the way he always smelled after a long
run. Peter felt his dick swell.
"Wanna do something with that?" Neal took his textbook out of his hands and
tossed it onto the floor.
"Neal …" Peter hated that he sounded like he was whining. "Come on, I've got to
finish that."
"Seriously? You'd rather do math homework that fuck me?"
"You could give me a blow job."
Neal's hand was on his thigh, then his crotch, squeezing gently. "I don't know
why you don't want to fuck me. You've done it with another guy. It's not fair
you won't do it to me."
Peter bit the inside of his lip and wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He'd told
Neal about fucking Avery at some point during the summer. Maybe if he'd said
he'd never fucked anyone, Neal wouldn't be so eager. But that would be a lie,
and he didn't lie to Neal. Not about important shit. Not about anything.
"I told you, not until you're seventeen."
Neal rolled his eyes. "I think you're being stupid."
"And I think you're …" Peter clamped his mouth shut. He was about to say,
looking for a spanking. Where the hell had that thought come from?
"If you won't fuck me, maybe I'll just – "
Neal didn't complete the thought - or threat. Peter saw red and somehow, threw
Neal onto the bed and climbed over him. "No one else is fucking you. No one.
You got that?" He ground his cock into Neal's crotch.
And the little shit started laughing. "I wasn't going there, but if it gets
this kind of reaction, maybe I should. Dan's been offering." Dan was one of
their suite mates, a six-foot-five Viking from North Carolina who'd been
trying, unsuccessfully, to seduce both of them.
Peter felt his cheeks burning. Neal had played him, and played him well.
"You're not going to let Dan fuck you. But if you weren't 'going there' - what
did you mean?"
"I was thinking about getting one of those things - you know - a fake dick."
Neal dropped his eyelids and now he was the one who was blushing.
"A dildo?" Peter didn't know whether to laugh or cry or scream in frustration.
"Yeah."
Peter groaned at the image of Neal screwing himself on a big piece of cock-
shaped plastic. A few months ago, he and Neal had gone into Boston and explored
the Combat Zone. There were still a few sex shops left in the area and they'd
nervously gone into one - more for the thrill than for any desire to buy
pornography. It had been an … education.
"I figure that maybe if you don't want to fuck me with your cock, you'd use a …
" Neal bit his lip and Peter had to laugh. Here he was talking about getting
fucked by a fake penis, but he couldn't bring himself to use the word.
"Dildo. Say it. Say it, Neal." Peter ground his cock against Neal's, knowing
that his button fly was probably painful against Neal's naked dick.
"Make me." Neal tilted his chin up.
Trust the little shit to turn this into a competition.
"Say it." Peter reached down and opened his jeans. It took a little effort,
because he was so fucking hard, but he pulled out his cock and then leaned back
on his haunches. He pulled off his shirt and started to stroke himself
leisurely, as if he was concentrating on his own pleasure. "I won't touch you
unless you say 'dildo'."
Neal wasn't backing down. "Two can play at that game, you know." He grasped his
own cock and started pulling on himself. "I wasn't looking for a jerk-off
session, but if that's what you're in the mood for…"
Truthfully, he wasn't. He wanted to fuck Neal, if only he could work his head
around the problem. He was big and despite his desire, Peter knew that cocks
and asses weren't always compatible. When he'd fucked Avery, the kid had bled a
little. He hadn't freaked out and told him it wasn't anywhere as bad as the
first time he'd taken a dick up his ass. Then, he'd bled like a girl on the
rag.
At that thought, Peter's desire almost died. Almost. Neal's fist kept bumping
against his, hot and slick. Neal was a squirter, he leaked like a sieve. Peter
loved that, it was like Neal couldn't keep himself under control.
"Love you. Love your cock. It's better than any … dildo." Neal groaned out that
last word and Peter couldn't believe the effect it had on him. He exploded
through his fist, across Neal's naked belly, spurting so hard, his jizz
splashed into the hollow at the base of Neal's throat.
Peter couldn't help himself, he leaned over Neal and licked his come up,
cleaning Neal - at least for a moment, because Neal came, too, coating both of
them all over again.
He collapsed bonelessly against Neal, panting hard into his neck. "I love you."
"I love you, too. You know that."
Peter felt Neal's sticky fingers stroke his back and then curling into his
hair. "You won't hurt me, I trust you."
Peter leaned up on one elbow. "How did you know?"
Neal smiled, looking like a sleepy cat. "I know you. You do stupid things when
you think that you're going to hurt me. You only end up hurting yourself. A guy
can die from blue balls, you know that."
Peter collapsed against Neal, kissing him thoroughly. "I am terrified I'll hurt
you."
"Maybe we need to do some research."
"Research?" Peter couldn't begin to imagine what type of research they could do
- other than first-hand experimentation.
"There's a book."
"A book?" This conversation had taken a turn for the bizarre.
"Yeah - it's in the university bookstore. The Joy of Gay Sex'."
"Don't you mean The Joy of Sex?" Peter had seen that book in B. Dalton's in the
mall. It was wrapped in plastic near the cashier's desk.
"No - this one's about gay sex. It's in the back of the bookstore - there's a
whole section on human sexuality there. I'm going to buy it."
"Neal - " He couldn't help think that this was a bad idea. What if someone saw
him?
"It's okay. We've got to learn about this. We don't want to get a complex,
right? Knowledge is the light that guides the ignorant."
"A complex? When did you turn into to Sigmund Freud? Or Mozzie?"
Neal wormed his way out from under him. "I think we need to be smart about
this. You're terrified and I'm not going to back down. I'll agree to wait until
my seventeenth birthday and stop goading you, if you agree not to freak out
over the educational material."
Peter just nodded. He couldn't think of any reason why he shouldn't agree.
"I'm going to shower. Join me? Or would you rather get back to your Advanced
Calculus homework?"
 
 
                                      FIN
End Notes
     Additional Author's Notes: (1) Until the AIDS crisis, Christopher
     Street in the West Village was the center of gay life in New York
     City, and was filled with bars and fetish clubs. But by the early
     1990s, the gay community had moved north into Chelsea and 14th
     Street. While Christopher Street is the spiritual home of the Gay
     Liberation movement (it was the site of the Stonewall Inn), it's no
     longer a mecca for gay life in New York. In 1983, a curious young man
     like Peter would go to Christopher Street looking for everything he'd
     never find in his safe (and straight) suburban community.
     (2) By the mid-1980's, Boston's "Combat Zone" was fast losing its
     seedy character, although there were still plenty of sex shops,
     prostitutes and porno theaters along Boyleston Street while Peter and
     Neal were in college.
     (3) The Joy of Gay Sex, a sex manual for men who have sex with men,
     was first published in 1977. I personally remember seeing the book in
     my university bookstore.
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