"It's your trying behaviour that gets you into these messes in the first place, Neal. So if I were you I would do a little less trying and a little more behaving. I am sick to the back teeth of having these conversations with you. You're smart as hell, but sometimes I question the intelligence of someone who repeats the same mistakes over and over again." Peter moved forwards and despite himself, placed a warm hand on the crushed looking kid's shoulder. "That might sound harsh, bud, and maybe it is. But I have to get through to you somehow. Anything could have happened to you on this foolhardy jaunt of yours. Not to mention the fact that you've managed to slip your anklet yet again. How long do you think I can keep Hughes off your back? Because I'll tell you something for nothing, he's getting a little heavy being on mine all the damned time. This is not only your second chance, it is your last chance. I cannot beat the federal government, Neal, and if anyone else other than me knew about the fact your table is wearing your anklet, you'd be done for. And maybe you don't know or don't care, but so would I."

If Neal was feeling bad before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

"Peter," he blanched. "Of course I care. Of course I do. I would never forgive myself if your career suffered because of me. Well, if it suffered more because of me. I wasn't thinking about that when-"

"Strikes me as that you weren't thinking at all, Neal."

There was no arguing with that, so the young man didn't even bother trying. Shuffling miserably where he stood, regret flooded through him. He'd thought he could help. But really, he was just insecure. No matter what Peter did or said, he was always waiting for the man to cut and run, deciding that he was just much bother to be getting on with. The thick woven carpet seemed to sigh up at him as he stared resolutely upon it, anything rather than looking Peter in the eye when he was so fed up with him. A weariness overtook him as he stood as still as a statue. Keeping up appearances was exhausting. He was exhausted.

"Neal? Do you hear me?"

Blinking, the younger man looked up and it was clear that he had in fact, not heard him. Biting back a sigh of irritation, Peter rubbed his tired eyes and breathed deeply. "Neal. Stay with me here buddy. I need you to really understand this, because I am not going to say it again." Two hands suddenly seized the slim shoulders, warm but with an overtone of restraint. "You do not have to keep proving yourself to me. You do not have to try and impress me on a daily basis. You do not always have to be the best and the brightest on every case. We are team. It is a team effort and you are not some resource to be signed out and signed back in. You are part of this team and it is not your job or your obligation to carry it. You could catch one low life or a hundred, and you're still just going to be Neal to me. I don't buy the Caffrey con, buddy. Stop peddling it. I get that you're always going to shine some of that con outside these walls, but in here, you're just Neal. And at work and in the field, you're a part of the White Collar division. That means you toe the same line as everyone else and work together, like everyone else. This isn't a solo sport, it takes a bit of you, me and everyone else to get the job done."

He took a staggeringly deep breath, surprised by the depth of his own speech.

"Am I making any sense to you whatsoever right now?"

With impossibly widened blue eyes, Neal nodded.

"Yeah…Peter, you actually are making all the sense in the world to me right now…"

The older man closed his eyes in sheer relief, the thoughts of having to explain himself in some different way simply too much to countenance. "Good," he muttered, "Cos the time El gave me to deal with you is running out and you aren't getting out of a well-tanned behind by me yakking away."

Neal suddenly seemed riddled with confusion.

"Actually, Peter, could I just draw your attention to one point that I'm having some difficulty with. When you say that I-"

"Don't even try it. Don't you even think about it."

Suddenly turning stern and steeling himself, Peter plopped himself down in the all too familiar armless chair that had been the menacing backdrop to their entire heart-to-heart. Uncuffing his right sleeve and rolling the material right up to his elbow, ignoring with difficulty Neal's muted whimper of misery, he pointed to his right-hand side and spoke quietly. "Come here. It's time to deal with this. I promise you, you won't be pulling a stunt like this for quite a while after I'm finished with you."

Knowing that resistance was futile, Neal bit his lip and did as he was bade.

"Drop the pants."

Crushing misery lanced through the artist. This was a rare, but not unprecedented occurrence. Generally speaking, Peter always allowed him the benefit of some protection during the beginnings of any correction. It was only when he pushed the man too far that he withdrew that bizarre privilege of sorts. With unusually fumbling hands, Neal reached up and undid his belt buckle and pants button, letting the expensive ensemble fall to his knees in misery. With no further ado, Peter reached out and laid the kid over his knee with ease. Pushing the shirt tails up and out of the way, he pulled down the absurdly expensive boxers to meet the equally overpriced slacks. Without a word, he snaked a firm hand around Neal's waist and tugged him tightly to his torso. He wasn't a man to tolerate squirming and the CI knew better than to even try with any great gusto.

"If I ever have to do this again for the same sort of reason, you're not the only whose belt is coming off. Is that clear?"

Gulping, Neal nodded and resolved as he always did, to never warrant this sort of correction again.

But it never seemed to work out that way for him.

Biting his lip so hard that the rusty tinge of blood squirted onto his tongue, Peter braced himself. Knowing that to overthink it would make things harder for the both of them, he raised his arm high and the first crackling swat landed with a trend-setting gusto. Neal's eyes fluttered shut as he clamped down on the familiar hiss of pain that the first smack always elicited. This was going to a tough one, and he needed to remain as stoic as he could, for as long as he could. Within thirty seconds, the chastisement was well under way. The otherwise silent room was aloud with brisk swats, a fast paced and alternating target system in operation. The milky skin that was destined to receive all of Neal's corrections pinked up immediately under Peter's unyielding hand. He kept his mouth shut as the spanking unfolded, knowing that to scold was superfluous.

Satchmo sat in the kitchen with his head in his paws, saddened for the visitor.

As the biting pain peaked from a sting to a burn, Neal gritted his teeth. His fringe flopped into his eyes as his backside reddened another shade with every passing second. He could never really imagine Peter as the professional baseball player until he was over his knee. Only then could he see where his swing would have been valued. His wide, unyielding and horrendously powerful swing. As that very swing came into brisk contact with his well-presented sit spots, the first yowl of pain escaped him. There was no stopping it. As the second volley of swats cascaded upon the sensitive skin, the first pooling of tears sprang up in his eyes. He didn't know how Peter's hands could be so impossibly hard, it wasn't as if he were in construction. Inexplicably hardened though they were, they were also very deft and covered every inch of his upturned and bared behind with little to no mercy.

Peter had dished out many a spanking to his incorrigible CI, but this one was definitely noteworthy.

He was determined to teach the kid a lesson.

Before he was far too dead and buried to be taught anything.

The backside over his knee was now a fiery crimson and seemed to crackle with heat as he snapped his hand down across it again and again. If El were here, she would no doubt disapprove of his thoroughness. But he couldn't take any more chances with the impulsive Neal. He needed to be reined in and he needed stability. He had to deliver what he said he would, even if he'd rather be delivering that ridiculously expensive coffee the kid drank and the gluten free croissant. With his own hand beginning to burn, he refocused on the already well reddened sit spots, ensuring a lasting lesson would be imparted. As a particularly stinging swat crashed down, the kid let go. Feeling the torso deflate over his knee and hearing the quiet sobbing breaking free, Peter closed his eyes in relief.

They were done.

With a perfunctory smattering of cool down swats, his arm finally stilled.

It was over.

He let Neal cry himself out, rubbing gentle circles on the small of his clammy back. He murmured softly to him, words of reassurance uttered just loud enough to be heard over the strains of his sniffling and snuffling. Several minutes passed before Neal comported himself enough to realise his vulnerable position. Scampering stiffly off Peter's knee, who tactfully looked away to allow the privacy needed to right the clothing situation, Neal hissed as the soft cotton made contact. Standing, Peter uttered not a word as he reached out and pulled the red eyed boy into his arms. The hot head was rested on his shoulder as Neal leant against him, thoroughly chastised and exhausted to boot. Muttering quietly into his ear, Peter eventually released him with a gentle ruffle of his tousled hair and a soft smile.

"M'sorry."

The soft, short and sincere apology filled Peter with more pride than sonnet of regret ever would.

"I know, bud, I know. It's water under the bridge now. It's forgiven and forgotten. Ok?"

Neal nodded, sleep growing in his eyes with every passing second.

Before Peter could offer any other word of comfort, the front door suddenly burst open and El barrelled through with determination painted upon her face. Seeing that the punishment was over, she breathed a sigh of relief. Effectively ignoring her long-suffering husband she raced forwards and seized Neal around the neck and pulled him tight. Rolling his eyes, Peter stepped back with a muttered "I spanked him, I didn't kill his pet dog for crying out loud," but smiled softy at the interaction. Releasing him with a quick once over, El gazed sympathetically at the red-faced Neal.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't ever do this to us again, ok?"

Peter stared, stony faced.

Us?

El was having tea and biscuits when he had to take Neal to task.

Neal nodded repentantly as he was pulled into another tight hug, before being stiffly frog marched into the kitchen for some well needed food. Sighing as he was essentially forgotten, Peter meandered in after the two of them a few minutes later, after straightening up the living room. Maybe they might throw him some scraps if they remembered he was there. Pushing open the swinging door he instantly became suspicious at the covert conversation that was taking place over steaming dishes. Looking up , El patted Neal's shoulder and turned a glowering gaze on her husband, speaking in a deathly tone of danger.

"Did you threaten him with a belt, Peter Burke?"

The Agent quickly glanced at Neal, who was standing and smirking behind his wife's back.

"Well...I mean, I guess you could say….El, you-"

"Did you threaten him with a belt, yes or no?"

Glowering heavily at the now silently laughing Neal, Peter dropped his gaze to the floor as his wife set about laying into him with gusto. Only escaping the tongue lashing because the phone saved his life, shrilling in the living room, he breathed a sigh of relief when she paused the lambasting to answer it. Left alone with his maddening charge, he fixed him with a glare that would sour milk. Crossing the room in two strides, he took the kid by the arm and swatted him three times across the behind with minimal force, but still hard enough to draw a squawk. Releasing him, he sighed when the grin was back in place that told him that landing him in it had been worth it.

He didn't hear the door open behind him as he opened his mouth.

"You little-"

El snapped the tea towel down on the counter behind him and Neal's grin stretched even wider.

"Peter Burke! Did I just hear you spank that poor boy? Again?"

The cause of all the consternation sniggered under his breath as Peter whispered a threat under his own, before turning reluctantly to once again to face the wrath of his wife.

"When she leaves….your ass is mine. You absolute brat."

….

FIN: I *may* have forgotten about this story! My apologies.

Inks x

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