Title: The Game
Author: Ima Pseudonym
Pairing: one-sided Keller/Neal
Rating: PG13, for coercion and mild violence.
Summary: Keller plays to win, in a game of life where playing 'is' winning.
Notes: Chess as an analogy for life is more than fascinating. It's fun. Also, I wanted to write something that gave Keller a little more depth, and made his history with Neal more interesting.
Spoilers: This takes place pre-series (that means pre-prison, pre-FBI and pre-Peter Burke. Kate was probably around, but I don't mention her in this), and only spoils some tidbits dropped about Keller's character that the show gave us over different seasons. Any canon events should be apparent, but won't spoil the show if you haven't seen it. (Which you should.)
Disclaimer: Belongs to the USA network, and my unnatural interest in fleshing out secondary characters.
o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o
The thing about Matthew Keller is he lives in a world of chess. And he's ruthless and determined to win, but he'll abide by the rules; as he perceives them.
Keller is a bishop, Neal reasons. He's fast, smart, and he attacks from the side. Keller usually takes out his opponent before they even realize there's been a set up.
That's what has Neal so uneasy. Not that Keller is dangerous; he knows that. Neal has taunted people holding guns to him, because he can see the danger, and out in the open its metaphorical threat is done, and you know it's your move.
But Keller has had the opportunity to strike out at Neal, and Neal never knew it. Only now, he's seen Keller kill a man for saying he'd forgotten his passport.
The three person job? Neal returned what they stole... Well, he turned it over, leaving Keller with a box full of nothing; smiling through his teeth. "Going for a walk."
Keller caught up to him that same night, in a seedy motel that no one would expect Neal Caffrey (or his current alias, for that matter) to stay in. Staying two moves ahead of your opponent meant nothing when your opponent is ahead by three.
Just, turn around and he's there.
Sideswipe.
Neal grabbed for the phone on the bedside table but he was pushed into the wall, in the same sweep that tore the phone from the wall and into the realm of uselessness.
"Fifty thousand. Fifty easy." Keller sounded exasperated, like it was a stupid move and that, more than the loss of money, is what disappointed him. Neal's pulse flickered madly but he tried to keep his face impassive.
Keller's fingers curled loosely at the base of Neal's throat, in something disturbingly like a caress.
"If you're going to kill me..."
"What?" Genuine curiosity in Keller's tone. An expectant gleam in his eyes, that throws Neal through another loop.
Another move he hadn't seen coming.
"I didn't expect to get that much out before you killed me." Neal admitted. He knew Keller wasn't the type to sit still for idle threats. He wasn't a man who savored victory before it was his. And he didn't wait for the savoring part.
"Neal..." disappointment again." I can't kill you. Oh I'm angry enough to break your fingers, sure. Angry enough to make sure you never pull another job as long as you live?" he shrugged insolently. "Maybe."
Keller grinned when the pulse under his fingertips sped up, reading the fear; adjusting his strategy.
"But I wouldn't kill you."
"You killed Steve only a few hours ago." Neal was sickened that he didn't even know their accomplice's real name. He'd agonized over the idea that his family might never even learn he was dead.
Keller's little finger tapped a countering rhythm with his prey's speeding pulse. Irritation washed over Neal's face in the form of Keller's put-upon sigh.
"Don't sully yourself with that kind'a comparison. You're so much better than he was. And with so much more potential. I didn't take him out because he might have lost his passport. I killed him because he didn't know, and a man who's not in tuned with his own possessions isn't someone who can be trusted to watch my back." Keller's free hand brushed down Neal's arm, feather light, until he reached the unguarded wrist.
Suddenly he had Neal's right hand in a punishing grip. The younger man released an unwilling whimper, trying to writhe away from the discomfort that promised debilitating agony.
"No, pl-" he choked off his plea when Keller's grip tightened a bit further. With barely any effort, just a twist of the hand, Keller could severely break several fingers. Neal was talented, but he wasn't ambidextrous. A bad enough break could damage his dexterity permanently.
Suddenly, his livelihood seemed so much more important than his life.
He stopped struggling, gripping the hem of his shirt with his free hand which had been prying, ineffectually, at Keller's wrist.
Keller lifted the captured hand, observing it intensely. His sudden bark of laughter caused Neal to jump in fright, sending a jolt of pain up his arm.
"The hands of a painter..."
Keller twisted minutely, and Neal felt his bones grinding; thought "This is it. He's going to cripple me. I'm done."
And then the grip was gone. With a gasp of relief, Neal cradled his hand. Probably bruised, but not sprained; certainly not broken.
He'd just started to relax when he was slammed into the wall again. This time Keller's hands were on Neal's hips. Far too intimate. Much too unexpected.
"I could kill you. But where would be the fun in that, Caffrey?" Neal tilted his head back; eyes flaring in challenge- mouth thinned in defiance.
"Yeah," Keller said absently. "I know your name. Your reputation, your... Infamy. See I'm a jealous guy by nature. But moreover, I'm competitive. I couldn't kill you, because then how could I best you? People would always say 'Caffrey could've- or would've' and how irritating would that be?" Neal said nothing. Guys like Keller wanted to do all the talking anyway.
"But it's more than that, isn't it?" lightning fast, Keller was gripping Neal's jaw, thumb and index driving his teeth apart through the soft flesh of his cheeks.
Neal jerked his head, trying to pull free, but his tormentor only tightened the hold until Neal stilled with a wince.
"We're not so different, Caffrey. We would steal anything for the right reasons... Our definitions of 'right' might vary, but one thing neither of us would ever do is destroy real art. You are art, Neal. In your own way. Talented and charming, Hell, I'd even say 'beautiful'. I don't make a habit of destroying masterpieces." he leaned in, and reveled in the younger man's widening eyes.
Check.
"Owning them, maybe..." Neal opened his mouth to tell him off, threaten, plead, or lie, but Keller didn't wait. Not for distractions, or empty words. He took the opportunity to close the distance.
With his right hand Keller hauled Neal's hips flush with his own. His left hand tangled in the soft dark hair, askew from running, and struggling.
Neal struggled, hummed his indignity and disapproval until Keller grew bored with the resistance; with the uncooperative mouth under his own. He didn't pull away but let the hands on his chest succeed in shoving him back.
"Art was meant to be enjoyed, after all." he said lazily.
There was a long pause, punctuated by Neal's fast, panted breaths; his murderous glare.
"Be seeing you, Neal. Real soon."
He left the room, calmly.
Part of the game was knowing your opponents moves before they did. Checkmate was within Keller's reach, but there was no joy in winning, if you didn't win by the rules. And it was Neal's turn.
He made a note to fly back to New York; that evening, if possible. That way he'd be waiting with the metaphorical 'welcome' banner, when Neal ran to ground.
Fifty thousand... Keller snorted to himself. It had never been about the money, anyway. It was about the art.
It was about the game.
o-O-o-O-o-O-o
A/N: You could probably argue, with Keller, that it's all about the Benjamins. But he's FAR more fascinating as a guy obsessed with competition. An alternate idea of mine is that he and Neal had a brief affair (that probably ended with his killing the third man on the three-man job.) For the history behind this fic, I'm going to say that there was a lot of pre-job innuendo, and that on Keller's side, the flirtatious was an honest overture to… well, bedroom games. Whereas Neal's flirtation… Well, that was just his natural charm, picking up (perhaps subconsciously) on Keller's interest, and giving the man the romantic intrigue he wanted, to keep him happy and compliant. (C'mon, who really thinks Neal knows 'how' to turn the charm off?)
I wrote this months ago, finished editing it late last night, and now I did one half-conscious run-through, so please let me know if you spot any huge errors.
And let me know if ya'll enjoyed/disagreed with/hated this! Comments make the virtual world of fanatical fiction depicting the platonically social, heterosexual, or homoerotic relationships of fictional characters within the realm of countless mass-produced, entertainment mediums… *HUGE BREATH* go round.
(Like I said: Tired. ^_^)