Neal knew. Neal knew the moment he got Mozzie's text that only read GUNS. if he made it out of there alive, Peter was going to have him. It was a shame, he mused to himself as his shaky hands locked the door between him and the murderous Columbians. He'd been doing so well recently. No harebrained impulsiveness, no lying. He was sure that Peter would put this lapse down to the fact that it had been a while since his last reminder. As Peter liked to term it.
Still, Neal felt the familiar sense of relief flood through his body as he heard the familiar voice of his boss and friend. And soon to be murderer. Adrenaline flooding through his body, Neal breathed again. The relief was short lived when Peter gave him the two finger beckon. Trying to look calm and collected, Neal edged out of the room and stood next to Diana. The looks Peter were shooting him were nothing short of murderous. Great.
Outside, Neal knows that it is only the presence of Diana and Mozzie that saves him from the wrath of Peter. Peter has always been clear with him - there are two unillegal crimes that he won't let Neal commit with him. He isn't allowed to lie, and he isn't allowed to risk his life. On the ride back to the Bureau, Mozzie's nervous fussing starts to grate a little on Neal. There he was, an unspecified amount of time away from a punishment, because of Mozzie, and Mozzie couldn't even man up enough to enter the FBI headquarters like a man.
"They might scan my fingerprints, they might take a copy of my retinal data or, or-"
"Moz, shut up, would you?" Neal snapped. "We're trying to help you."
Neal saw Diana's eyes narrow slightly in confusion and knew she was wondering why Neal was so antsy with his friend. Peter's face remained impassive as he drove, but his eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror to catch Neal's eye. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if Neal was ok. Neal dipped his head, once, and went back to staring out of the window.
In his office, with Neal and Mozzie sat in front of him like two naughty pupils in front of their principal, Peter looked like a raging bull. His deep breaths were unnerving Neal. Neal could only pray that Mozzie was so worked up about Gina that he wouldn't pause to consider why Peter seemed disproportionately annoyed. As they explained what had happened, Neal tried his very best to be respectful, holding back every cheeky comment that flew to mind. He didn't want to test how short Peter's fuse was. Not with Mozzie in the room.
Diana came in with the ping on Gina, and before Neal knew what was happening, they were all on their way to surveille the park. Neal was two steps behind Mozzie when Peter caught his arm, holding him back. Neal gulped and looked up into Peter's angry brown eyes.
"You follow my instructions to the letter," Peter growled in his ear. "We might not have time to deal with this now, but don't think you're getting away with this stunt."
"I don't," Neal said quietly. "Peter -"
"Save it," Peter interrupted. "I'm too angry for it now. Save it till later." He released Neal's arm and, before Neal had time to move, pulled him into a crushing hug. Neal hugged back, the fear he had felt earlier seeping out of his bones.
"I was scared," Neal said quietly as Peter clasped him tightly.
"I know," Peter replied, squeezing the man's shoulder as he released him. He knew Neal inside out. He'd seen the fear; he'd seen the relief when he showed up. That was why he would continue to uphold the arrangement they had, however unconventional it may be. Neal had come to rely on his. He had become a safety net. "Don't leave my side. I mean it. Let's get this sorted, so that at least you didn't risk your life for nothing."
Of course, nobody anticipated what happened next. Neal felt like his heart was going to stop when he watched Mozzie walking towards the mobsters. In disbelief, he watched his best friend walk away, a gun to his ribs and nothing any of them could do to help him. Peter's hand on his arm, heavy and reassuring, was the only thing that kept him grounded. And then, of course, the perfect exchange realisation that Mozzie, as middleman, had become dispensable. Neal could have cried. Ready to burst from the car, Peter's warm hand stopped him again. Calmly, methodically and without panic, Peter sorted out the situation. As Neal embraced Mozzie, he was torn between wanting to continue the hug and throttling his best friend.
"Worst day of my life, Moz," he muttered into the smaller man's ear.
"Wine?" Mozzie asked.
"Of -" Neal stopped in the middle of his agreement as he spotted Peter's expectant face in the background. With the stress of the past few hours, and Mozzie's danger, Neal had forgotten about his own situation. He shot a pleading look at Peter, which was met with a stern raised eyebrow. "I need to go back with the Suit," he said. "We've got some more work to do. Anyway, I think what you need is a huge nap. Recover from the adrenaline."
"Yeah you're probably right," Mozzie chuckled. "I owe you."
"You owe Peter," Neal countered. "He did it all. He always does."
And Neal knew, he had never spoken truer words.
* * *
"Do you get it now?" Peter asked, from his position on the sofa. Neal stood in front of him, nervously fiddling with his trouser leg.
"Get...it?" Neal asked. He never knew how Peter expected him to concentrate at times like these, as he sat there on the sofa, with his big strong arms preparing to mangle Neal's ass.
"I saw your face when we got to Mozzie and he was okay," Peter said gruffly. "You looked like you could happily have strangled him. That is what you put me through, Neal, every time you put your life at risk."
"Yeeees," Neal said slowly, not wanting to validate Peter. "But let's be honest, Peter, we can be worried about people without smacking their butts. I mean, like, I am going nowhere near Mozzie's nether regions, let me tell you now."
"Did you really think that was going to work?" Peter raised an eyebrow.
"Peter, let's think about this," Neal said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. The urge to con his way out of the situation was as strong as it ever was. "None of this was my fault. It was all Mozzie's idea, you see, and Mozzie is normally...er...reliable. So. I'm not really culpable. Now, I understand you are annoyed about the very slight risk to my life this morning, but if you want the culprit for that, I suggest you go and grab Mozzie and pull his pants down-"
"Caffrey," Peter interrupted sharply, holding a hand up. His face looked instantly more annoyed than it had a minute ago. "The situation is by the by. I don't care what happened. I don't care what Mozzie did. I care what you did. Or, more specifically, didn't do."
"Er...so...you're not going to spank Mozzie?" Neal tried, one last time to bring humour to his demise.
"Are you done?" Peter growled.
"Am I...er… yes. Sir. Yes. Done." Neal backtracked at the sudden fury in Peter's long suffering eyes.
"Good. Okay. Tell me. What is my number one rule for you, Neal?" Peter asked.
"Sit at home like an obedient little lap dog until the FBI require my services," Neal snarked, before his brain could catch up. Peter was on his feet and moving towards Neal, leaving him no time to retract. Peter's hand locked like iron around Neal's arm and he was dragging Neal along. To Neal's surprise, he didn't end up face down over the man's knee. Instead, Peter was dragging him towards the door. Two steps from the door, the elder man released him and looked pointedly at the door.
Neal looked at the door, and then back at Peter.
"Peter?"
"If that is what you think, Neal, we have nothing more to say here," Peter said quietly, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple. "Our arrangement is centred around our bond outside of work. If you think that my rule for you is to obey me in an FBI capacity, then you need to go home, and I will see you at work bright and early on Monday."
"Peter, c'mon," Neal mumbled quietly, staring at the carpet. "You know...you know this isn't easy for me. I… say the wrong thing. I… this is hard, you know."
"And has it not worked?" Peter asked gently, taking a step forwards and tilting Neal's chin with a finger so the man is looking at him. "Does this not help? Knowing that I care, knowing that there is finally someone who needs you alive and well? When was the last time you did something like this? It's been months, Neal."
"I knew you would say that," Neal muttered resentfully. "In that room. Even seconds from death, I knew you would say that."
Peter tries to school the grin that spreads across his face, but it's hard. He loves the damn kid far too much.
"Well let's work on you knowing that before you broke in," Peter replied sternly. "Ready to try that answer again?"
"Number one rule is…" Neal was going to say something else ridiculous, to cut the tension he was feeling, but Peter's face told him no. He sighed, stuck his hands in his pocket and tried not to blush. "I'm not to put myself in dangerous situations, instead I'm supposed to come to you. I am actually sorry, though, this time Peter. I… it was impulsive. I didn't think."
"This time," Peter said, raising an eyebrow. "You told me you were sorry all the other times, too."
"Yeah, well," Neal said with his token cheeky grin. "What would you say if a Neanderthal was whaling on your ass?"
"Nice," Peter said, shaking his head as he turned and headed back to the sofa. "Real nice. Come here. And lose the pants."
"Lose them?" Neal shot back quietly. "Where does one lose a pair of pants in a house as small as-"
"Caffrey."
With hands that definitely are not shaking (Neal doesn't shake), Neal undoes his suit trousers and slips them off, folding them neatly and putting them on the table. He opened his mouth to express his concern about not obeying Peter's orders as he still knew where he wants were-
"Don't even think about it," Peter growled over the intake of breath. "One more smartass comment, and I'm going to use the belt on you. You deserve it, really, after what you pulled."
Neal is surprised. He was sure that he was in for his worst punishment yet, which definitely included an extended session with the belt. Curious, he crossed the room towards Peter more willingly than he'd ever done before. He stood a metre away from the man, head cocked. Peter couldn't help but think he looked quite adorable; he looked exhausted, his shirt hanging down over his black boxers, green ankle socks sticking out and his uncharacteristically ruffled hair standing on end.
"No belt?" Neal asked quietly.
"I know you, Neal," Peter replied. "This time, I can tell that you know exactly what you did wrong. Aside from your frankly disturbing attempts to get me to spank Mozzie, your behaviour after the event convinced me that you know exactly what you did wrong."
"Not wrong per se," Neal said, unable to ever just shut his mouth. "Just… misguidedly. But, nobody died and-"
"Neal, if I were you, I would come here and accept the hand spanking before you make it worse for yourself," Peter sighed exasperated. That was the problem with Neal. Never knew when to shut up.
Oh, and the other problem. No part of him would allow him to swallow his pride quite far enough to graciously present himself for punishment.
Neal stood in front of him, shifting from green socked foot to green socked foot, fingers fiddling with the bottom of his shirt as he eyed the door. Peter sighed. How much longer did Neal want this damned day to be?
"I was proud of you today," Peter said quietly. Neal's eyes flew from the door to him, narrowed in confusion.
"Yeah?" Neal said quietly, eyes flitting back to the door and then back to Peter.
"Yeah," Peter said. "I could see that you were trying. In my office, and on the case. You were really trying to own what you had done, and be responsible, and fix it. I was proud."
"Even though I nearly died?" Neal asked, still shifting from foot to foot.
"Even though you nearly got yourself killed," Peter corrected, standing up slowly. Usually, he did this more forcefully. But usually, Neal was more obstinate and unsure of what he had done wrong. Today, Peter sensed that a more gentle tack would be just as effective. "Why do we do this Neal?" Peter asked as he gently took Neal's wrist and tugged him over to the sofa.
"Because you're a-"
"Don't," Peter warned, raising an eyebrow at the cheeky look on Neal's face. "I'm being soft, today. Don't push me."
"Because you care about me," Neal replied. "And I do things without thinking."
"Right," Peter said, sitting down and guiding Neal over his lap. Neal almost stiffened up, but sensed that Peter was being peculiarly lenient and didn't want to push it too far, so allowed himself to be pulled down. "And that has been happening less and less recently. But I can't let it slide, kid. I can't lose you, Neal. What's this spanking for?"
"For fun, Peter," Neal joked before he could stop himself. Peter landed a sharp slap to Neal's thigh, causing the man to squawk comically and throw an arm back.
"Last chance, and all lenience is gone," Peter ground out.
"Right. Sorry," Neal said, twisting his head so he was looking at Peter. "I did something totally stupid, and risked my life by running headlong into something without telling you. I should have. I don't know why I didn't. I told Mozzie, you always do everything. You always sort it all. I know that. I'll remember that in future."
"Head down, Neal," Peter said gruffly, mostly so Neal wouldn't see the emotion on his face.
"You're crying," Neal informed the sofa cushion. "Neal Caffrey has melted the ice heart of - ow."
"Hold tight, kid," Peter warned quietly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Neal's boxers and pulled them down. Neal wound his arm behind him, resting it against the small of his back and Peter clasped it in his. Neal always insisted that this was to stop him reaching back, but they both knew it was for the comfort.
Peter didn't start gently. He wanted it to be over quickly, but he also needed Neal to know that this behaviour was unacceptable. Neal was so impulsive that a missed punishment would likely send him marching back to square one, and he'd start risking his life every day again.
Neal bit down on his lip as the first few swats landed, far harder than Peter's normal firm warm up. He squeezed Peter's hand tight. Peter started to spank in earnest, dealing harsh swats all over Neal's white skin. With each smack, Neal whimpered slightly and wriggled, trying to move himself out of the line of fire. Used to this, Peter trapped his legs with his right leg and shifted Neal forwards slightly.
Peter didn't lecture as he spanked, this time. Usually it was necessary. But Neal wasn't usually so repentant. Peter smirked as he thought about Neal's attempts to divert. The Neal he'd known when they'd first started working together would have been out of the door the second Peter offered him the choice. This Neal, the one squirming over his knee, knew he needed the discipline. However much he would swear blind, in an hour, that it had been wholly unnecessary.
Peter upped the ferocity of the swats as Neal's skin became pink under his firm handling and began to deepen to red. With each harsh swat, Neal's ass jiggled from the impact and briefly, fingerprint marks appeared before merging into the red hue of Neal's sore skin. Neal was holding his breath, trying to stay stoic as his ass burnt and hurt. And it was so embarrassing. Nobody got to see Neal Caffrey's bare ass. Nobody.
"Let go, Neal," he heard Peter instructing him from far away.
And like that, the calm instruction broke the dam and all of the stress and fear of the day came rushing out. The way he had felt before Peter came to rescue him. The way he had felt before Peter rescued Mozzie. All of it. With each searing swat to his ask, Neal sobbed out the emotions of the day.
"If you ever, and I mean ever," Peter began, pausing in his onslaught. Neal took a deep breath, his skin burning. "Do something like this again, I am going to spank you with a belt every night for a week, do you understand?"
There was a slight pause, in which Neal sniffled and tried to catch his breath enough to speak.
"Is that… a working week or a seven day - owww!"
"Neal, are you taking this seriously?" Peter growled, looking at the pink handprint that had formed on Neal's previously white thigh.
"Yes," Neal mewled, horrified at the onslaught on his poor thigh.
"A seven day week," Peter murmured dangerously. "Monday through Sunday. Do. You. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Neal conceded, burying his face in his arms.
"Good boy," Peter said quietly, pressing down on the hand that Neal was clutching his with. "Now. I said I wasn't going to use the belt. But, you deliberately put yourself in a very dangerous situation. So these last twenty are going to be with the brush. Do not move."
Peter picked up the hairbrush which he had snagged earlier and rested it against Neal's red ass. Neal whined, his heart racing at the feeling of the dastardly object against his already aching butt. He made a mental note to steal and burn it later.
The first ten swats were delivered randomly over every inch of Neal's aching butt, and Neal bucked as much as was possible in Peter's tight hold. Neal was howling now, loud enough to possibly alarm the neighbours.
"Last ten, kid," Peter soothed. "You're doing good. Just… stop making the neighbours think I'm murdering someone."
"You are… you're murdering my ass," Neal choked around his repentful sobs.
"Noted," Peter said, steeling himself for the last ten. He knew he had been more lenient on Neal than the situation possibly demanded, and as such these last ten were going to serve the purpose of driving the lesson home. Before the kids pitiful sobs could persuade him otherwise, Peter gripped Neal's hand even tighter and smacked the hairbrush down on the top of Neal's right thigh.
Neal was too shocked by the impact to yell out, and broke off into another round of sobs as Peter brang the hairbrush down in a line down his thigh. Each swat left an angry, red, hair brush shaped mark. He did the same on the left thigh, holding a limply wriggling Neal tight as he lifted the brush high and delivered one more seering swat to the middle of Neal's ass.
Neal yelped, and then Peter felt all of the tension leave his taut form. Peter dropped the brush and slipped his hand under Neal's shirt, to rub his back. Neal cried. Peter's hands felt warm, and heavy, and safe, as usual. As he rubbed, Peter told Neal how proud he was again. He told him that he had taken it well, and that he could really see how hard Neal was trying. Gradually, with the gentle rubbing and the even gentler words, Neal began to calm down.
Once calm, Neal's pride always returned like being hit with a lorry and he scrabbled furiously for his boxers. Peter chuckled as Neal shot off his lap, red faced and teary eyed, his underwear already up and over his modesty.
"You act like I haven't just seen it all," Peter teased, lightly ruffling Neal's hair as he went to the kitchen for a beer and Neal's wine.
They settled on the sofa to watch a film, some boring complex thought out thriller that Neal had chosen. Neal lay on his side, his head resting on Peter's hip. Peter absentmindedly stroked the boy's hair.
"I'm sorry, you know, Peter," Neal said, resolutely looking at the TV. "I know you'll always know what to do. I'll come to you next time."
"The wonders a sore butt can work," Peter teased, still stroking the tousled curls.
"Wholly unnecessary," Neal muttered. "But you know, whatever makes you feel better, old man."
