"Oh - fuck, yes."

"...Neal."

"Mm, harder, please..."

"Neal." Peter bent him over the hood of the car.

"Ah-!"

"Neal! In the name of all that is holy - could you please restrain yourself?" Peter cried, exasperated and faintly red. He refused to meet Caffrey's gaze.

"Isn't that what your job is for?" Neal's eyes glistened mischievously, matching the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Much to the police, FBI's, and Peter Burke's dismay, Neal found handcuffs to be less threatening than... arousing.

"Besides," he continued, "If you'd be a little less rough, this wouldn't happen all the time." He bucked against the car, moaning softly.

"Let me get this straight - you're blaming me for your disturbing fetish?"

"Oh please, Peter. As far as kinks go, it's a pretty tame one. Don't try and tell me you and El have never-"

"I do not like where this is going."

"Ooh, angry Burke. I can work with this."

"Neal, I am not doing this with you. Not now, not ever."

"Whatever you say - if it makes you push harder, sir." He winked.

"Ok, that's it." Peter uncuffed Neal and shoved him into the car. "Not a word the rest of the way. And no touching yourself."

Neal smirked, locking his lips and throwing away an imaginary key. He rubbed his wrists and relaxed into the leather seats.

Sucker.