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It was hard to miss Neal Caffrey in a room full of people. Even before he got his polished finish, before the hats and vintage suits and tailored shirts, Neal drew the eye.
At least, Keller noticed him all those years ago in the Grand Casino. There was something about that boy with curly dark hair and blue, blue eyes that made you look at him. And when you looked, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Matt spotted him sitting at a table with some very experienced players, looking idle and bored and like a trust fund kid just begging to be taken for his whole fortune. But it takes a con to know a con, and Matt recognized the con in Neal. He took the last open chair at the table, nodding to a couple of the players he knew and lighting a cigarette.
“You sure you can play these stakes, Keller?” someone teased him. “Georgie here-“ indicating Neal “-plays pretty highhanded.” A smile pulled the corners of his mouth; he'd found a poker game the World Backgammon Finals; Backgammon was hard to bluff, but poker was old hat. And here was some kid already conning the whole table.
“Deal me in.” He squinted at the kid through the smoke. “What’re the stakes, Georgie?”
“It’s a ten thousand buy in.” Neal said, eyes smoldering at Matt; he knew a con when he saw one, too. Keller shrugged and took ten one-thousand dollar chips from his pocket.
“Cash only, or will these do?” He put them on the table, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He saw an answering flash in Neal’s eyes; well played.
“That’ll work.” Neal said, keeping the anger out of his voice. “Dealer.” Her nodded to the dealer and sat back, eyes on Matt. Matt threw the kid a cocky, assured smile. In spite of the table full of players, they both knew this was between the two of them; not just who had the better cards, but who could play the entire table better.
Matt liked to play a slower, more contained game; Neal was flash and style, winning early and often. Not making any friends. Matt deliberately lost to Neal twice, earning sympathy from a table of acquaintances who resented the kid that should have been an easier mark. The first time Keller won a hand against Neal, the stakes were too low for it to matter much to anyone, but the whole table cheered Matt, clapping him on the back and buying him drinks. Neal’s eyes went around the table, and then came back to Matt, who lifted an eyebrow at him: it’s not all about the money, kid.
Neal won the next hand, but then lost to Matt on purpose. He was testing his theory; the table once again cheered Matt for beating Neal. The corner of Matt’s mouth turned up; he knew that Neal had had a better hand than him and folded on purpose. Now Neal’s eyebrow went up and his smile flashed. Keller’s eyes moved to one of the other players at the table and then came back to Neal, questioning. Neal got the message and glanced down at his newly dealt cards, then back to Matt: let’s take him, then.
Matt began to play a more complex game, losing and winning and losing again in a pattern Neal couldn’t quite figure out at first. Then he realized Matt was playing to encourage their mark to bigger bets, to back him if it came to that, or to bet it all when Neal got too cocky. He understood that he was supposed to goad the other with higher bets and better cards, and the occasional loss. He concentrated on playing a flashier game than Matt so that no one would see Matt taking their money. He hardly looked at Matt now, becoming cockier when he won, sulky when he lost. Finally Keller and Neal managed to play everyone else off the table, except their mark. The players watched, fascinated, as Matt was out played by Neal and passed a pile of chips across the table with a resentful smirk.
“They teach ya to shark like that at your Ivy League?” Matt asked. Neal shrugged.
“Don’t get bitter because you can’t play cards.” Neal threw back. “At Yale we learned to lose with grace.”
“Yeah? They also teach ya t'be a cocky little shit?” his face and words were hard, but there was a glint in Keller’s eyes that Neal couldn't help responding to.
“No, some things just come natural. Good looks, talent… not that you would know.” Neal said, eyes raking Matt, hot and insolent but not insulting. Keller had to suppress a smile. He turned to the mark he’d chosen, speaking in a low, urgent voice.
“Don’t let 'im win. Teach the little Ivy League fuck a lesson.” He said. The guy nodded, eyes steely. It was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Neal came on strong, playing a hard, fast game. The mark won a couple times, apparently frustrating Neal, who played more and more recklessly. They were down to the last hand, and Keller glanced at Neal to check if he had the cards to win. Neal raised an eyebrow; of course he could win. Keller gave a slight shake of the head: let him win. Neal’s jaw tightened and he shook his head: I have him. Keller opened his lips a little to let out a sigh: do what I say, kid. Neal didn’t respond. They had their mark over a barrel. Why should he let the asshole win?
“Ten thousand.” The mark said, pushing a pile of chips to the table. Keller didn’t look at Neal.
“One million.” Neal responded coolly, pushing his own chips to the table. The rest of the players scrambled to back the mark with cash and jewelry. neal looked at the pile, a thoughtful look in his eyes that he wiped away as fast as he could. Keller put a hand on the mark's shoulder; Neal noticed, however, that he didn't throw anything on the table.
“Take him.” Keller said to the mark, eyes on Neal. Neal’s cocky smile spread across his face. Matt almost missed him slipping in a new card; he wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t looking for it. Everyone else’s attention was on the mark’s cards.
Neal laid his cards down; it was a damn good hand. The table went silent as the mark slowly laid down his own hand. Keller almost couldn't look; he'd kill the cocky little fuck if he beat the mark. He looked at the cards, darting his eyes at Neal when he saw them and touching his tongue to his top lip. The mark had played a winning hand. Their eyes met before the table exploded in cheers, and Neal turned his eyes away from Keller, giving a tight, sarcastic smile.
“Good game.” He said, reaching across the table to shake hands. “Thanks.” The mark stared at his hand for only a moment, and then shook it, smiling.
“you’re too cocky, kid, too reckless. Calm down a little and you’ll make a damn fine player.” He said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Neal said, getting up from the table.
“good game,” Matt murmured to the mark, clapping his shoulder and then following Neal.
“Georgie. Lemme buy you a drink. After that loss, you can’t afford it.” He said, loud enough for the table to hear. Neal paused. He wanted to tell Keller to fuck off, but he could feel the attention of the whole table on him. So he turned to Keller, eyes stormy but smile bright.
“Sure.” He said. They went to the bar and Keller ordered them both a whiskey.
“Here’s to a damn good con.” Matt said, voice low so he wouldn’t be overheard. He raised his glass to Neal, downing his drink in a gulp and setting the glass on the bar. He was excited; this Georgie kid was an exceptional con. He had potential, though he was a bit raw.
“Yeah, what was that? We had him.” Neal asked, downing his own whiskey and making a face. He tapped the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and ordered drinks for both of them. "Martinis. Shaken, not stirred." Keller laughed and Neal shrugged; they were at a casino in Monaco. If there was ever a perfect opportunity to play out a James Bond fantasy, this was it.
“Creatin some goodwill for myself. And you. Losing like that means you can take almost anyone at that table now and they won’t resent it much. 'Specially since you had a drink with me after.” Keller explained. He took a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his room number on a napkin, sliding it to Neal. “Here. Fifteen minutes. We should have a private conversation. 'F you're as good at backgammon as you are at poker, we'll live like kings.” Keller missed the shuttered look in Neal’s eyes as he glanced up at him; he was drinking his martini and making a face at it. “Not enough gin. Fuckin European bartenders, right?” He said, setting his glass back down. Neal’s fingers were on the napkin and he studied the number there as though it contained the secrets to the universe. “Fifteen minutes.” Keller said, hoping the kid would come up as he left the bar. He wanted to get at him, pick his brain, see what he was capable of.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, Neal knocked on the door. Keller opened the door, grinning.
“Come in, kid.” He said, pulling Neal in by the shirt. “Listen, you got-” But he didn’t get to finish, because Neal was pressed up against him, kissing him, hands fumbling at Matt’s belt buckle and shutting the door. At first Matt just let Neal kiss him, surprised but not unwilling. He needed to catch his breath, though, so he pushed Neal back a little. but not too far.
“Hey. Hey, kid.” Matt said, resting his hands on Neal’s hips. “Slow down. What- what gives, huh? What’s this all about?” His eyes flashed with desire, warmth, looking up at Neal with an eagerness he could practically taste. But a moment later he cleared the expression from his face as he caught the angry look in Neal’s eyes, the smoldering resentment.
“You invited me up here.” He said. He leaned towards the other, as though he couldn't possibly get enough of him. But there was something faked about it, something false about the way Neal fluttered his lashes that made Matt angry.
“T'talk business.” Matt countered.
“Isn’t this business?” Neal purred, pressing himself closer to Matt.
“Not th'kind I had in mind.” Matt said, taking a step away from Neal. His hands shook slightly as he took a cigarette out of his case and lit it. Now he wanted Neal more than he’d wanted anything in his life, but he wouldn’t have him like this. “This how you make your money?”
“I do what I have to.” Neal answered with a shrug.
“Jesus, kid.” The thought of men putting their hands on this boy, using him, sickened him. Taking that beauty and talent and reducing it to a commodity. None of those assholes would have seen what Keller saw when he looked at Georgie; they’d only see that aching beauty and want to have it, if only for a moment. He met those stormy blue eyes and tried a smile. “Listen. Don’t do that no more. Not when I’m here. You got too much potential to be wasting it like that.” Neal considered him for a moment.
“Want to keep me all to yourself?” He challenged. Now Matt considered Neal, taking in his height, his charm, the goddamn sexiness radiating off him like an elemental force. The blue eyes, the dark hair, the set of the shoulders. Goddamn right he wanted this kid.
“Not unless you want me, too.” He said finally. “I mean it. You’re gonna ask me, and you’re gonna mean it. You’re gonna want me as bad as I want you before I lay a hand on you.” his voice lowered, went smoky with desire and assurance. “And trust me, Georgie, you’re gonna want me. But not just yet. We can keep it professional for now.”
“Neal.” The kid answered, throat dry. “My name’s Neal.” He swallowed hard, eyes meeting Keller’s, and there was just the faintest flash of intrigue in their depths. “You’re pretty self-assured, Keller.”
“Got reason t'be.” He answered, inhaling deeply. He did want Neal, but he’d been only half serious when he said Neal would want him too. There was no harm in planting the idea in the kid’s head, though. “Now. Listen. You’re a hell of a player, a hell of a con, and I got some ideas.”
“I do alright on my own.” Neal said. “What do you think you can teach me I can’t figure out on my own?” Keller’s smile flashed, eyes warm and suggestive.
“Pay attention, kid, and you’ll see.” He answered. Neal tried to resist grinning, tried to keep his face stony, but Keller winked at him and he couldn’t help it. He chuckled low in his throat, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re a charming sonovabitch, you know that?” Neal said, relaxing a little and moving to sit down. Keller shrugged, eyes following Neal.
“I’ve been told that once or twice.” Keller answered, putting out his cigarette. “Drink?”
“Whatever you’ve got.” Neal said. Keller poured them both a drink and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Neal.
“So. Tell me about Georgie. What an alias. Makes you sound like a character in a Frank Capra movie.” Keller said, and Neal laughed. They talked and drank together for a couple hours, getting tipsy enough to feel reckless. Keller was talking in a low, smoky voice to Neal about Nice, a place he’d love to visit again. Neal put his glass down and without warning, straddled Keller’s lap, smile dangerous. A challenge. He moved his hips against Keller’s, opening his lips to let out a sigh of delight.
“You want me.” He murmured, pressing close to Keller and letting his breath glide over the other’s lips. Keller’s eyes went to the kid's mouth- gorgeous, perfect, desirable- and then he forced himself to look into Neal’s eyes, a smile twisting his lips and hands clenched into fists.
“No question, kid.” He returned, voice husky. He did not lift his hands to Neal’s hips or pull him closer. He did not move under Neal or lean forward to kiss him. He tilted his head back, relaxing his shoulders, and smirked at Neal, watching him avidly. “But we established that.”
“So why don’t you take what you want?” Neal teased, lips almost brushing Keller’s and blue eyes lit up. “Go ahead, Keller.” Matt couldn’t help it; he put an arm around Neal, pulling him close and holding him still, biting his own lower lip as he stopped himself from kissing Neal and taking what was being offered.
“No.” He said, but the tremor of desire in his voice betrayed him. “I told you, you’re going to beg me first.”
“I can beg if you want me to.” Neal said in Keller’s ear, breath hot.
“Not like this, you little fuck.” Keller said, trying not to pant. He knew Neal could feel his hardness through his pants. But he could control himself; a hard dick didn't mean he couldn't think objectively.
“Why not?”
“Because.” Keller said. Because he would not be those other men who used Neal. He wouldn’t use Neal, not like this. He wouldn’t have Neal on a silver platter unless Neal wanted him too.
He had principles.
“It’s more fun to see you chase me, sweetheart.” He said, flashing a challenging smile. “You’re so used to being chased you need a lesson in humility.”
“So it’s a game?” Neal asked, lips brushing Keller’s cheek. Keller shuddered under Neal, but kept his hands off.
“Life’s a game.”
“Oh.” Neal said, drawing out the vowel long enough for Matt to imagine what he'd sound like gasping oh, fuck. “So what are the odds?”
“No odds, kid. It’s a sure thing.”
“Stakes?”
“Everything.” Keller was practically salivating.
“How do we know who wins?" Neal's voice was smokey, roughening with desire, and Matt sucked in a breath.
“We’ll know.” The words almost became a groan as Neal moved very slightly against him. He grinned, loosening his grip on the other. “Trust me, you’ll know. Even if I win you’ll feel like ya hit the jackpot.” Neal chuckled, breathless.
“Fine.” Neal agreed, catching Keller’s lips with his. Keller kissed back, tongue and lips gliding against Neal’s, getting a taste of his beautiful boy. It only made him want the other more, but he didn’t touch Neal, didn’t reach for him or press against him. He deserved a goddamn medal.
“May the best man win,” Neal said, getting up.
“Always do, sweetheart.” Keller tried the endearment again, smiling around it as he said it. Neal winked at him and chuckled as he moved to the door. Matt turned to watch him go, hungry and aching but refusing to admit it.
“Hey. Y'can call me Matt. Get that up close and personal, y'can call me by m'first name.” Neal nodded, shutting the door behind him. Matt rolled his head back against the couch and gave a loud groan. Before he knew what he was doing, his cock was in his hand and he closed his eyes, feeling Neal’s breath on his skin again. Seeing those blue eyes lit up, hearing that drawn out “oh”. He wondered what Neal’s eyes would look like when they were wide and open and full of lust, what his voice would sound like if that “Oh” turned into a moan of pleasure. He thought about Neal saying his name in that breathy, delighted voice and remembered the warm weight of Neal in his lap. He caught a whiff of the kid’s cologne still hanging on him- rubbed into his shirt by their close contact- and he came hard, making a mess of his clothes and his hand, like he was some barely touched kid with a major crush. He took a minute to catch his breath, and then swallowed hard.
He cleaned himself up and then went to bed, but those blue eyes haunted his dreams. He wanted to taste Neal again, to touch him this time, to make him shake with want and desire the way he was already shaking for Neal. It would be a challenge, but Keller had never backed down. He enjoyed the gamble.