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Neal and Peter had been getting it on for quite a while now. Over every weekend, and even after the occasional workday, Neal’s cozy loft routinely reeked of male pheromones and musky sex. Neither man ever did anything halfway, so their encounters were hot, sweaty, kinky, and sometimes even acrobatically challenging. Neal was usually on the receiving end of all the fun and games, and, from time to time, when Peter was on a lusty tear, the younger man suffered the consequences. Tonight was one such instance.
The sides of Neal’s neck were rubbed raw from Peter’s unshaven chin, and the imprints from his hard-gripping fingers were turning purple on Neal’s hips. The CI was now dabbing antibiotic first aid cream on bite marks that adorned his pectorals and down his sides. With a grimace, he handed the tube to Peter, who was looking at his handiwork with just a shade of embarrassment.
“Can you get the ones that I can’t reach on my back and ass?” Neal requested with a wryly-quirked eyebrow. “Even for you, Peter, don’t you think that was a bit over the top?”
His handler responded almost sheepishly, “I just don’t want you to get bored, Neal. That’s why I’m always trying to think up new and inventive ways to spice up our escapades between the sheets.”
Neal snorted. “Between the sheets, under the sheets, over the sheets, being tied up with the sheets—yada, yada, yada. Look, Peter, I have an open mind and I don’t mind a bit of the rough stuff on occasion because I’m trusting that you’ll put the brakes on when it’s time to stop.”
“Right, right,” Peter agreed. “Maybe we just need to communicate a little better. You need to speak up, Neal.”
Neal looked at his FBI handler with a sardonic expression. “Peter, I very clearly said, ‘Wow, that really hurts,’ but you just kept on going like a charging bull. I don’t know how much more specific I could have been.”
Peter grimaced. “Yeah, well I suppose that I took that remark out of context. Your use of the word ‘Wow,’ which is actually a superlative interjection, seemed to indicate that you were enthralled, having a great time, and maybe even enjoyed that it hurt a little bit.”
Neal sighed. “Sometimes, Peter, we’re just not on the same page of the same book. Maybe we’re not even in the same library!”
Peter was determined to fix this. “I think I know what’s needed at this stage of our relationship, Neal. You should think of a safe word that you could say whenever you’ve reached your limit. When I hear that specific word, I’ll immediately stop whatever I’m doing.”
“Great idea,” Neal agreed. “My safe word is ‘tailgating,’ since most of the time you’re either right on my ass or shoving something into it!”
Peter made a face. “I’m not liking that so much, Neal. I think ‘saddle sore’ seems more appropriate.”
Neal looked incredulous. “Peter, this is my safe word and I should get to pick one that I choose, or, better yet, one that personifies the bully currently in the bed with me. Therefore, maybe my safe word should be ‘carbuncle.’
“Seriously, Neal?” Peter obviously was offended by being referred to as a pus-filled abscess. “That is overkill and just really malicious on your end.”
“Okay,” Neal capitulated gracefully, “I have others on the tip of my tongue. How about ‘wart’ or 'satyr’ or maybe you’d prefer just plain ‘Nancy,’” he suggested. “Then there’s ‘jerk,’ ‘goat,’ ‘asshole’ …….”
“Enough!” an aggrieved Peter bellowed as he interrupted the litany of slurs.
Neal’s eyes lit up. “—‘Enough’—how perfect! ‘Enough’ sums it up quite succinctly and is now going to be my new safe word.”
Peter was caught off-guard. “I would have preferred ‘maestro,’ he pouted. “After all, I'm the one conducting this little orchestra.”
Neal favored him with an impish grin and a promise. “Well, Peter, if you don’t honor my safe word, then in the future you’re going to be holding onto your conductor’s baton all by your lonesome!”