Title: Yours
Pairings: OMC/Neal (Sub Neal)
Summary: Neal was in a relationship, until, one day, with no explanation whatsoever, he ran. Six years later, his past finds him.
Warnings: BDSM and other undecided ones.
Hi, this is my first ever fic, so be gentle.

Chapter 1: Enter Alec

Neal strolled into the FBI conference room, his usual Cheshire cat grin pasted on his face and his fedora adorning the top of his wild, brown curls. Standing at the head of the table, his azure eyes flitted from face to face in search of any empty chair, but froze when they encountered a familiar, blonde-haired man. The ethereal, green eyes flitted up to him and, his heart pounding in his ribcage, Neal, like always, sank into them. “Neal?” Peter’s voice called, snapping Neal out of his daze.

He turned to Peter, who was staring at him quizzically, “Yeah?”

“Sit down.” Neal nodded and sprawled gracefully – if that was possible – into the only vacant seat in the room, which was coincidentally to him.

Neal tried to pretend that his presence didn’t affect him and he was so good at it that even he almost believed it – almost. Pretending like he couldn’t feel the green eyes boring into the side of his head and roving up and down his body luxuriously, Neal rolled his chair in closer to the table and leaned in, “So, what’s going on?”

It was Peter who answered his question, like always. “Neal, meet Alec Campioni, CEO of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Mr. Campioni, this is Neal Caffrey, our resident art consultant.”

Alec spun his seat around so that his body was pointed toward Neal. He held his hand out to Neal, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Caffrey.”

Neal slid his pale hand into Alec’s tan, calloused one. Trying not to linger on the way that Alec’s fingers rubbed a straight line on the inside on his wrist. “It’s Neal and likewise.” He made to retrieve his hand, but, looking Neal pointedly in the eye, Alec only tightened his grip, no doubt intending for Neal’s mind to do what it did: take him back six years, back to Italy, back when Neal had welcomed Alec’s hands on him, back before Neal had left what had had to be the most satisfying and fulfilling relationship of his life without a word – back to when he had been going by alias of Neal Champlain. Then someone, namely Peter, coughed and Alec dropped his hand, as if he’d just noticed that he’d been holding it captive, “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

Neal smiled tightly, his fingers rubbing the spot where Alec’s fingers had subtly encircled his wrist, “It’s okay.”

“So,” Peter interjected, glancing at Alec and Neal worriedly, “Mr. Campioni is here because he has heard rumors of a future heist taking place at the museum and desires our help to prevent it from happening.”

Neal glances quizzically at Alec from the corner of his eye; he didn’t know how it was possible, he and Alec had spent hours poring over the security at the museum back when they’d been in Italy together. Point was, a break-in shouldn’t even be possible. Nonetheless, Neal inquired, “What do you suspect is going to be stolen?”

“The Mona Lisa,” answered Peter.

Neal’s eyes widened, “What?” He turned to Alec, “The Mona Lisa’s at the Lourve – in Paris.” He glanced at the other people in the room, but no one backed him up. “Surely, you all know that?”

Neal made to stand, “Apparently not.” But, before he could, Alec’s hand suddenly sneaked under the table, landed on his thigh, and pressed. And, cursing his body for betraying him for still listening to Alec, for still responding to him, Neal sat and Alec explained.

“About a year ago, one of my associates in Paris discovered an exact copy of the painting and told me about it. Now, just like you, I didn’t believe that it was authentic, after all, as far as we know, there is only one Mona Lisa and it is housed at the Lourve, has been for years. But, Jean Paul, my associate, insisted on it being an original Da Vinci, and, although I wasn’t stupid enough to take his word for it, the allure of a Mona Lisa still caught me – it could do wonders for the museum – and I told him to have it tested.”

Neal tried to concentrate on Alec’s words, but it was damn near impossible with Alec’s hand rubbing up and down his thigh. He tried to shrug it off subtly, but Alec tightened his grip until Neal had to bite his lip to hold in his gasp of pain and gave up. Rubbing soothing circles into Neal’s thigh in apology for having to punish him, Alec continued his tale. His constant touching had become normal enough for Neal to get the gist of the story.

From what he’d gleaned, the Mona Lisa part two had been shipped to New York two weeks ago and wasn’t set to be exhibited for at least a month, but, somehow, someone had learnt about it and, now, some was, more than likely, planning to steal it. Neal still couldn’t believe it -not that there was another Mona Lisa, even though that was pretty shocking too – he couldn’t believe that Alec was here after all these years and still – Neal felt like a teenage girl for even thinking this – “liked” him. He was so lost in thought and the feelings of warmth and yearning that Alec was creating in him that he didn’t even acknowledge the sounds of moving chairs or the chatter of the feds talking as they exited the room. In fact, he only came back to the living when Alec’s hand left his thigh, grabbed his hand, and hauled him up.

“Alec?” Neal called, his voice quavering. Alec didn’t answer dragging Neal to the door, then out and into the elevator, when he noticed that no one was around. He pressed one and then, after the elevator moved, flicked the emergency stop on. Neal opened his mouth to ask what was going one, but was silenced by Alec’s mouth descending on his own. Taking advantage of the open mouth shamelessly, Alec thrust his tongue into Neal’s mouth and, pushing Neal into the metal wall of the elevator, took Neal’s mouth with the boldness of ownership.

His confident hands roved over Neal’s body despite Neal’s weak struggles, reacquainting himself with the firm planes, the slight curves. He kissed Neal, stroked him until, with a sigh, he melted into him, his head nestling into the crook of Alec’s neck. “Alec,” he breathed into his neck, his hands fisting Alec’s Armani shirt, but Alec couldn’t care less – Neal was in his arms, his Neal. His hands smoothed down Neal’s back until, finally, his hands encountered the lush ass. Cupping the sweet ass in his hands, Alec pulled up and grinned in delight – Neal hadn’t forgotten – when Neal gave a little jump and, in the next second, had his lithe legs wrapped around Alec’s waist.

“I missed you, Mi Amore.” And with that, just like Alec knew they would, Neal’s walls crumbled to nothing and the tears started flowing freely. Alec rubbed Neal’s heaving back and showered his curly locks with kisses as his love starting rambling, his apologies interspersed with words that he couldn’t quite make out.

“It’s okay, Love,” he whispered into Neal’s ear, nipping into the lobe as he did so, loving the full body shiver that it produced. “Today, whenever you’re free, we’ll talk about it and you’ll be forgiven.” Neal’s sobs had quieted to the occasional hiccup. “What do you say?”

In lieu of answering, Neal nuzzled his neck and, as endearing as that was, Alec couldn’t have them start this again with Neal disobeying him. So, he supported Neal’s weight with one hand and reared the other back and slammed it down hard onto the fleshy part of Neal’s ass. Neal jumped, one of his hands unlatching from Alec’s neck to rub out the sting before he was stopped by Alec’s grip on his wrist. Grinning like the cat who ate the canary, Alec rubbed the inside of Neal’s wrist, “Uh uh, you know better than that.”

Tightening his grip on Alec’s neck, Neal pulled back and smiled, a wonderful, warm, shy smile that made Alec’s heart glow with pride. Smiling back at Neal predatorily, Alec pulled him back into his arms and, as Neal burrowed into him, tried to not grin smugly at the fact that this beautiful, responsive creature was his – Neal was his.