Title: The Rules 1/3
Author: Ima Pseudonym
Rating: PG13, for indecent thoughts.
Summary: Keller meets Neal, who may or may not be an exception to the rules.
Warnings: Keller's a little pervy, but when it comes to Neal Caffrey, we all are. And Neal's mostly on board, anyway.
Notes/Spoilers: No real spoilers. This is almost entirely conjecture. It's pre-series, with some series-established facts 'about' pre-series. But nothing that's going to ruin the show. Author's notes will follow the fic. (I lie. There is brief mention, in passing, of the outcome of Neal and Vincent Adler's relationship. Nothing detail-y, though.)
Disclaimer: Belongs to USA, and Ross McCall's somehow wonderfully intriguing Keller.
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Backgammon was not Matthew's game, but that wasn't the point. There was money to be had and all he had to do was stay in the game long enough to leave Monaco a richer man.
Well, that was the plan.
But then 'Nelson Carter' showed up, and with an effervescent smile, and a vulnerable (though subtly false) innocence he stole away all of Keller's hard-earned marks.
He didn't like it, but he couldn't blame the rubes; Nelson almost had him, too. As it turned out (though he'd prided himself on thinking with the elevated brain) the aesthetic appeal of a dark-haired, blue-eyed, and beautiful youth made for one Hell of a distraction.
Matthew lived by subterfuge but he was smart enough not to lie to himself. This stranger, his competition, was one of the more attractive (not to mention tempting) obstacles he'd come up against.
"Just to clarify," Matthew said, grabbing the man's wrist in warning, as he casually brushed by with a soft 'pardon me'. His hold kept the newcomer's arm pinned against his chest. "I'm hoping that you've stuck your hand in my pocket because you're tactlessly forward, and not because you're trying to steal from me."
Well, hoping wasn't the same thing as delusion, so that had been honest enough.
'Nelson' had the grace to appear abashed, and despite every better judgment he'd ever had, Matthew was intrigued. Not every thief would make even that much concession to being made.
"You caught me, Mr...?"
A pause the length of a heartbeat; three.
Matthew let him go, felt the hand slip out of his jacket (devoid of its intended prize), as he hadn't felt it slip in.
"Matthew Keller. And you are?" he wondered if he'd get the truth from him.
"Nelson Carter. But I think you knew that already."
"I'd heard 'that' name, yeah. I was half-hoping you'd introduce yourself with your actual name, but-" he shrugged, not so much irritated, as bored.
"I think..." the man said, carefully. "that we're both familiar with the necessity of aliases." Matthew smirked, and Nelson continued with a small frown of dawning comprehension.
"Even if you're secure enough to give your real name to a stranger you caught pick-pocketing you."
The smirk softened to something like a real smile. At least Blue Eyes wasn't overly stupid.
"There's a difference between pick-pocketing and fishing for an identity. You weren't going for my money. There are bigger fish to fry, after all. I just thought I'd save you the trouble of using theft to find out who I am. My ID is a fake, so my wallet wouldn't have done you a lot of good."
Nelson looked uncomfortable, now. Doubtless, Matthew was erring against criminal social protocol by being so forthcoming with illicit truths.
He didn't care. He lived by his own rules.
"There's no need to worry. I'm the last person who could condemn you." he said reassuringly. He wasn't surprised that Nelson didn't seem reassured.
Matthew was getting bored again, his impression of the man shifting and changing by degrees as the pros and (heh) cons tilted the scales of judgment. It was becoming apparent to him that the only difference between this man and a sea of other petty thieves was unnaturally good looks. And maybe an extra wit or two, besides.
And yet something still compelled him to think otherwise.
Matthew had been staking out this crowd for two weeks before this pretty face showed up. There were dozens of rich, bored people who would be suitable targets for a little honest thieving, or bamboozling: People who wouldn't mind a side wager or two, to keep the tournament extra exciting. Matthew had spent two solid, uninterrupted weeks getting close to them; gaining interest, if not trust. He'd weeded the paranoid or less wealthy from the pack and was now focused on only those who held promise for the heft of his billfold.
Like Mr. Faulkner, the industrial tyrant/philanthropist of Detroit.
He knew that Lawrence Faulkner wasn't an easy mark. He'd seen the man brush off compliments from dazzling men and women on twenty different occasions, but five minutes with the blue-eyed competition (who'd zeroed in on Faulkner out of some unknown instinct) and he'd subtly slipped his digits over on a cocktail napkin, like they were in some cheap bar in the Bronx, and not a room filled (or at least partially occupied) with gambling-obsessed millionaires.
Well, it confirmed Matthew's suspicions about Faulkner's preferences, but it left the question open about what made this 'Carter' character so appealing.
He'd seen a thousand men and women try on a thousand masks to get close to their targets: The safe and shy 'Aw shucks' bumpkin, name-dropping social-climbers, temptresses with too much bared skin, or a thick wrap of intrigue: Even the tough guy, or strong-silent types. Desperate and pitiful, vaguely dark and sensual, or the good-willed everyones' best buddy.
This guy was none of those, and all. His charm was less like armor, and more like a skeleton; it couldn't be made or removed, but supported from within.
This man didn't possess charm. He 'was' charm.
That, alone, was enough to warrant real consideration. And who's to say Matthew couldn't teach him a thing or two, and get something in return?
He was selfish by nature; greedy, and covetous. But he wasn't cheap, and he did know that there were things of value that couldn't be converted to dollars and cents.
Matthew made a habit of luxuriating in all forms of wealth, and if it cost half of his intended take at the backgammon finals, well... He felt certain he could live with that.
"Maybe we could make an alliance." Nelson took a step back, mouth opened with ready platitudes, rejection written in the fine lines of his slender body.
Matthew stepped forward, his prey frozen between fight and flight, but he only slipped his card into the man's hand.
"Better to get half easy, than to fight me for it all." his tone held a challenge.
See what you can get. See what I'll give.
TBC
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A/N: Say that you love me?
