Just to prove SOMEONE wrong, SOMEONE who claimed she could pwn me when it came to Neal/Steve.
My very first slash drabble, based on this image from Sarah.
Before Steve could move away, Neal had hooked his finger through the metal loop and pulled, hard. Steve stumbled, caught himself on the stack of crates to glare up at Neal.
"You wear the most fuckin' stupid shit," Neal said. "A dog collar?"
"Judas Priest wears 'em," Steve snapped.
"We," Neal said, "ain't Judas Priest. You wearing leather boy gear just --"
His finger still hooked through the metal hoop, Neal snorted & turned away, pulling Steve
after him. Steve resisted, pulled back, dragging Neal to a halt.
"Cut it out."
"So take the fuckin' collar off," Neal said.
Steve only stood there, arms crossed, glaring.
"You're so fuckin' cute when you're pissed," Neal said, grinning. "Little girly leatherboy..."
Steve said nothing, only continued to glare.
"Lemme guess," Neal said. "You're too stupid to figure out how to undo the collar."
"You're too stupid to figure out how to get your finger out," Steve snapped.
Neal pulled again, hard, steady, until Steve was within inches of his face, and there was a
sarcastic quirk to his mouth and amused challenge in his gaze. "But I'm not the one
wearing a dog collar."
Then before Steve could react, Neal leaned in and kissed him.
Maybe it was only supposed to be a joke. Maybe. But caught by surprise, Steve opened into it before thought or brain caught up, opened into it and returned it with equal fervor that suddenly turned ferocious, heavy. There was a faint smell of pot, cheap beer, sweat, and Steve was breathing it in and couldn't get enough, even as Neal pressed him back against the crates, pressed hard, hip to hip and grinding, until Steve moaned into Neal's mouth...
..and just as suddenly, Neal pulled away.
They both stood there, staring at each other wide-eyed, and Neal opened his mouth.
"Guys..." It was a call from the other room, too close, not close enough. "Stage call. Get going."
Whatever Neal had been about to say came out as a curse instead. Neal spun away, stalked out of the room before Steve could gather any wits to call him back, before Steve could do anything more than just lean against the crates, boneless and breathing hard, trying to decide if that had really happened.
"Hey." Herbie stood at the door, glaring into the room. "That meant you, too, Perry. Get your ass in gear."
Steve pushed away from the crates, wiping hurriedly at his mouth. He brushed past Herbie without a word, avoiding eye contact, but felt the man staring at him.
"A dog collar?" Herbie said sarcastically.
"Fuck off, Herbie," Steve said, and went out to face the music.