FIC: Tribulation (Part 3); Fandom: White Collar
Title: Tribulation (3 of 3)
Author: Esmeralda (laesmeralda)
Fandom: White Collar
Dramatis Personae: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Feedback: Responses, including constructive criticism, are welcome.
Original Date: Written March 2012
*******
Tribulation: Part 1
Tribulation: Part 2
*******
The first woman since Kate to lay Neal’s brains out, although something of a predator, left behind a white rosebud on her hotel pillow. It seemed to him an acknowledgement that she’d sensed his pain somewhere during the athletics. Or maybe it was just her calling card.
He had observed that heiresses can procure all sorts of unusual things at odd hours without the interruption of knocks or ringing doorbells-and the flower was the tamest of items this particular specimen had produced throughout the night. It was also her most surprising act, although he discovered a close second in the open closet-she had caused his shirt to be laundered, suit pressed, shoes shined, and a lovely new tie was draped over the shirt to replace the trophy she had apparently taken. Knowing he could go straight to work took the sting out of finding and disposing of various pieces of used latex before showering so that task wouldn’t fall to the maids. He still tipped extra for champagne-soaked sheets (he had actually imbibed none of the sparkling wine), extensive smudges on the black marble coffee table, and general disarray.
He removed a few thorns and buttonholed the rose for the office that day. His body felt great, his mind was clear, and the new tie rocked.
Before he even hit the FBI elevator, he surmised that Peter would already know that his anklet hadn’t made it home. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but everything was business as usual. No stern looks. No lecture. The bit of disappointment he felt that Peter wasn’t miffed actually embarrassed him.
*******
A few nights later, he was drawing in the kitchen, listening to Mahler and the heavy rain, when that distinctive knock sounded. He looked at the door in surprise. Peter would have called if they had a case and his phone had been silent at his elbow.
He wiped charcoal on a rag. Momentarily tempted to put on his hat, he unceremoniously crushed the urge.
Peter was mid-knock again when Neal opened the door. Peter’s coat was wet and so was his hair. June’s guest parking spot had been available all evening, so Peter must have hesitated outside. “Anything wrong?” Neal asked.
“Just felt like I should come over. See how you are.”
“It’s late and I’m not sleeping. How’d you know?”
Peter shrugged. “Am I interrupting… anything this time?”
Naked from the waist up, Neal couldn’t fault the question. He showed his smudged hands. “I was just drawing. Here, give me your coat. So, Elizabeth’s been out of town two days.”
“Yeah.
“And you’re not sleeping either.” This could possibly be the second consecutive late night Peter had driven over to notice that Neal’s lights were on. “Beer?” Neal headed for the fridge. Moving would help conceal his nerves. On his way, he casually hit the button to draw the heavier curtains.
“Since when do you keep beer on hand?”
Neal turned and dramatically raised an eyebrow. It had the desired effect of eliciting a chuckle. After handing off the bottle, Neal parked a hip against the table, arms folded, and watched Peter sip and carefully page through the open sketchbook. Nothing incriminating there. Fortunately.
“You’re talented.”
“Thank you.” False modesty was pointless. He hadn’t gone to jail for artistic flaws.
Peter set aside his beer. “In many pursuits.”
It sounded like sexual innuendo to Neal. In keeping with his no-more-fantasy approach, he decided that must be only because the beer had lowered the timbre of Peter’s voice. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Define trouble,” Peter replied. He wasn’t making eye contact.
“You here to warn me that I’m going back to prison?”
Startled, Peter looked up. “Have you done something?”
Neal shrugged. “The bureau bundling me off on a whim is just one of several likely reasons for you being here at this hour without calling ahead. Offer me an alternative explanation.” Now that a case, personal catastrophe, and criminal prosecution had been eliminated, Neal was pretty sure he understood the purpose of the visit but wasn’t going to presume.
Peter rubbed what should have been well-past-five-o’clock shadow that he, interestingly, didn’t have. “I suck at this.”
Neal contemplated the possible meanings hidden in Peter shaving before his visit. “That all depends upon what this is.”
“Last time I came over, it was to offer support.”
“And you were very good at that.” It was said, and meant, sincerely, and perhaps there was just a bit of lust he couldn’t keep out of his voice. “Is that why you’re here now?”
Peter’s head nodded side to side. “Worry at your seemingly chronic insomnia is one of the reasons I came up.” He glanced at the considerable pile of used tissues within reach.
“My insomnia is apparently your insomnia,” Neal replied. He didn’t carry on with a tease that Peter’s personal attention to his wakefulness was going beyond the call of duty. “No need to worry about my grief process, Peter. It’s going to be along haul, but I’m not hiding it from you or Moz anymore. That helps.”
“I said worry was one of the reasons.” Peter almost reached for the beer bottle, and checked himself. He took a moment. “On the phone a month ago, I chickened out.”
Neal took a deep breath and considered carefully what to say. “Ah, the complicated part.”
“So hear me out this time and I’ll manage it. Don’t do that ‘Mr. C tries to make everything smooth’ thing you do.”
Neal stifled a smile. “Okay.”
“Okay then.” Peter shifted his stance, trying to settle, and finally leaned on the counter. “When you let me… be comforting… I was glad I could be there for you. I told you on the phone that I’ve become attached. And I had done such a poor job of talking to you at the hanger. I lectured and didn’t tell you how much I didn’t want you to go. Personally. Not as an asset. It was a big relief to be able to show it and to be of some help.” His voice thickened for a moment.
Neal started to say something, and Peter held up a warning hand.
“Not finished. I started out feeling very older-brother and pleased with myself. But after you were just there quietly, it became… different. I started to notice things like how you smelled, how your body felt-guy smell, guy feel.” Peter fiddled with the bottle cap, giving it more scrutiny than necessary to keep it turning. “It was exquisitely good to hold you,” he admitted. “Like the universe settled for a moment. I realized that I always look forward to what little physical contact we have.” Peter’s eyes flicked up, and they seemed darker than usual, the brown deeper, before they focused back on the bottle cap. “I said it wasn’t consensual. Didn’t mean it couldn’t have been. That’s what I had to own. It wasn’t all you. Okay, now I’m done.” He flicked the bottle cap across the kitchen into the recycling and took a short slug from the bottle, remarkably, still mostly full.
Neal understood how difficult that set of declarations had to have been. “You’re an even braver man than I gave you credit for,” he said, carefully, “but sometimes when people feel close in extreme situations, feelings get confused.”
Peter took on a somewhat vacant look, enough that Neal could hope he was maybe finding himself a little bit back there on the couch, in a good way. And then he focused again. “Is that what it was for you, confusion?” Peter asked.
Neal could see the pulse rabbiting in Peter’s neck. “You keep asking me to do the right thing, and that day… was so not the right way to go. I lost impulse control. But I’m trying to do the right thing here and now.”
“I’m asking, because I’m not confused at all. It took some time. I could have handled it better instead of just seeming to go on like nothing happened but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry for that.”
Still unwilling to facilitate, Neal waited.
“There is one thing that keeps nagging at me. It’s that… why would you, of all people… what I mean to say is that you’re young, and annoyingly good-looking, and crazy smart. So why me?” Peter looked genuinely puzzled.
It was a charmingly different reason for “why” than Neal had asked himself weeks ago staring down at Peter, and his resolve wavered in the face of it. So he tried to be matter-of-fact. “I’m ignoring the possible self-esteem problem the question suggests because that would be bullshit. And I prefer to pay compliments spontaneously. Younger women often go for older men-your wife for one.” He purposefully caught Peter’s eyes for the next part. “But maybe the issue is that you still don’t trust me. I can tell you what it isn’t. It isn’t your position. It isn’t what you can or can’t do for me. I understand that might seem difficult to believe, but you already try so hard not to favor me that you disfavor me. How does that help me?” Neal leaned forward, just a bit, to convey his intent. “We don’t choose who attracts us, Peter, or who we love. We only choose what we do about it.”
Peter moved away from the counter slowly, deliberately. It wasn’t the grabbing rush that Neal expected from men and knew how to field. Instead, Peter stepped up and put his hand on Neal’s face, tipped it just the tiny bit needed and looked right in his eyes. Searchingly. It was so intensely direct that Neal wanted to shy away. Again, Peter was proving braver. And smarter. That very difficult gaze said much more about complexity than words could. Fear, conflict, empathy, intimacy, it was all there, along with raw connection. It said, among many other things, that even if-when-the consequences got dicey, Peter wasn’t going anywhere and that he understood the foundation truth of Neal, that if anyone ran, it would be Neal.
It went to Neal’s core. He stepped their bodies together and offered his mouth, leaving just the last inch for Peter to choose. Not every guy was into that sort of thing, especially not with the lights on, eyes locked. Apparently, Peter was.
And he was such a fine kisser after all that Neal couldn’t resist testing him, yielding and pursuing, and he found himself becoming increasingly, raggedly breathless as Peter softened at Neal’s aggression and came after him just as Neal eased off. Finally, Neal broke away and buried his face in Peter’s neck. “Wow,” he whispered.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Peter sounded much more cavalier than his thumping heart would suggest he could. He brushed his nose along Neal’s neck, breathing him in, and Neal arched into him, leaving no room for doubt about either man’s state. Peter’s arms tightened around him, his hands sliding along bare skin, holding him, this time acknowledging all the complexity of the act.
Neal’s whole body seemed electrified from the inside out, something he had felt on a couple of more interesting substances and once or twice with Kate. He felt reckless, joyous with the sensation. In the arms of someone who wouldn’t hesitate, he would have simply followed, surrendered, and enjoyed whatever happened. But he was pretty sure he was expected to provide some direction.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Peter asked, lips just behind Neal’s ear, which didn’t help Neal’s composure.
“I’m… I hate to trot out a tired metaphor, but you led masterfully there and I’m having trouble switching roles mid-song.”
“Then don’t.” Peter bit softly into Neal’s neck, running his tongue over the pulse. Neal gasped. Keeping a firm grip, Peter maneuvered them out of the kitchen, kicked off his shoes, and urged Neal up onto the bed underneath him. “The last time I put you into this bed was far too chaste.”
How the sound of the words hummed through Neal’s body then. “It’s what I needed. And I didn’t thank you.”
“Oh, yes you did.” The light filtering in from the kitchen left Peter’s face shadowed but his voice was low and growing warmer by the moment.
“Again, sorry for the hit and run,” Neal managed before Peter mouthed lower on his neck and rendered him speechless.
Peter’s lips lifted briefly. “Stop apologizing. It wasn’t technically consensual but that wasn’t the problem. I like sex to be reciprocal. Interactive.”
Neal bit back a groan. “Don’t think I didn’t enjoy it,” he whispered.
“Don’t think I didn’t relive it. Opening my eyes to see you... Jesus, Neal. Realizing that I wanted this.” His strong and sure hand found Neal through his trousers.
Neal reached up and tore Peter’s t-shirt open with his bare hands. So ended witty repartee.
Novice and not, they coordinated remarkably well. Peter discovered that many places on Neal’s skin were erogenous, and Neal let him explore. He kept hands on Peter when he could surface enough to move.
He was restored to lucidity when Peter asked Neal if El would be safe-one of the more loaded questions demanding pure integrity that he’d ever been asked-and when he answered, “yes, absolutely,” not knowing what would happen, he discovered that Peter was very, very good at reciprocal, long delays notwithstanding.
It was probably an illusion that his orgasm had lasted five minutes, or that lightning bolts had blazed around the room, but he did have to untangle his fingers from Peter’s hair afterward. A tousled Peter sat up and smiled happily down at Neal.
“Amazing.” Neal smiled back. “But didn’t that freak you out a little?”
“The first time you went down on a woman-didn’t that freak you out a little? I don’t mind admitting it. That was like,” he rolled his eyes up as though calculating, “many hundreds of times ago, so it didn’t really stop me.” The most substantial evidence that he was doing just fine was quite close by.
“Touché.” Neal rolled over, pressing Peter back on the sheets, “Let’s not rush you this time.” He tried hard to make up for the afternoon gone awry, soaking in every detail and surfing Peter through the big water until the right wave to ride came along.
*******
Neal woke up first, instinctively wary enough not to sleep through until daylight. He watched Peter for a minute or two, wondering how anyone could sleep on their stomach. And then he couldn’t resist running his hand along the small of Peter’s back, up over his ass, back and forth, wiping away a charcoal thumb print along the way.
“I was having a swell nap. What gives?” Peter smiled and stretched, rolling to his side and propping on an elbow.
“Just looking at your fine ass.”
Peter’s expression suddenly turned more serious. “On that note, I don’t want to overthink, but I should probably say out loud that I don’t believe I could actually… fuck or be fucked. Not per se.”
“Now you tell me.” Neal teased and then reached out to touch Peter’s lips. “Suits me just fine. Not being a pain-with-pleasure guy, I never was much of a bottom myself. Knowing that makes it difficult to top unless I’m absolutely sure the other person is into it.”
Peter’s brows drew together. “In prison, did anyone ever hurt you?” his voice went gruff.
The protectiveness felt nice. “I always have loyal bodyguards. And I don’t really need them. My greater talents do not lie in sexual favors as it turns out.”
“Liar,” Peter shot back, relief visible.
“We have work tomorrow-today. So we have to prepare, now that we’re running a long con.”
Peter looked bemused, and Neal noted, also wonderfully, sleepily handsome. “On whom?” Peter asked.
“Everyone but your wife.”
“Oh.”
Neal enjoyed the shifting expressions moving over Peter’s face. “That is, if anything like this might ever happen again.” He didn’t mean it to sound like a question.
Peter snorted. There was some stubble by now, and he scrubbed a hand over it. “I’m still enjoying afterglow, and you’re already plotting.”
“It’s protective plotting,” Neal sounded mildly outraged. But he liked that Peter would admit to afterglow. It was promising.
“We’re smart guys, right? Mature. We know better than to snog in the office or the car. Not much more to it than that.”
“Oh, snog, very British. So look, I’m going to keep right on making hero-worship puppy eyes at you, and being snarky when you yank my leash, and nobody will be the wiser. You’re going to be the problem.”
“I haven’t been, have I?”
Neal thought about that. “It’s different, now though. Isn’t it. This was fully participatory.”
Peter smoothed his thumb along one of Neal’s eyebrows. “Neal. If nobody noticed me looking at you funny the whole last month, they aren’t going to.”
The rumble in his voice jolted deep in Neal’s belly. Too soon, not enough energy, but he felt it. He leaned over and kissed Peter to let him know. “We have to be careful on the phone from now on. Nothing in discussions that could be overheard, voicemail, texts, or emails.”
“Sounds restrictive.” Peter sighed. “We’ll figure it out. You can come up with a codebook if it makes you feel… more prepared.”
“Moz sweeps my place twice a week, so that’s all good. But he also pops over at odd hours. June is mother-hen watchful. They’ll expect you to be here, but they won’t expect me to hesitate to open the door for them when you’re here. We have to plan a cover for that. And then, there’s whomever ran Fowler. Apparently, we just aren’t uninteresting enough to fly under the radar.”
“Would Mozzie have a problem with this? Or June?”
Neal was stunned. “You wouldn’t care if they knew?”
“I don’t want to go around creating blackmail material, but short of that….” He shrugged. And then chuckled. “Most men worry about hiding an affair from their wife. This has to be one of the more unusual cases.”
“I wouldn’t call me an affair, exactly,” Neal said abruptly.
“No offense intended.” Peter looked at him askance. “More of a paramour?”
Neal wrinkled his nose and then realized Peter was teasing. He started to laugh. “Oh, you had me going.”
“Also utterly unacceptable-boyfriend,” Peter shuddered dramatically, “and the ubiquitous partner.” Peter slid to hover over Neal’s chest and watched him for a few breaths. “Inamorato, then.” He planted a kiss on Neal’s lips and rolled off, groping for his shorts on the floor. He looked back over his shoulder. “And yes, I know what it means.”
“I love it when you dust off arcane vocabulary,” Neal joked, to cover the wonderful shock of it. “Sorry, that was a deflection. What I mean is, the feeling is mutual.”
Peter smiled at him, softly, and then held up the shreds of his former t-shirt.
“Borrow one of mine.” Neal found his own shorts under one of the pillows and slid into them.
Peter snorted, pulling on his socks and pants. “Flattery… where else could it possibly get you?” He glanced at his watch. “I really gotta go or Satch will start howling soon. Walk me to the door?”
Neal leaned on the jamb while Peter buttoned his coat up all the way. He hadn’t even tried to struggle into one of Neal’s t-shirts. When he was done, Neal grabbed him by the lapels and hauled their mouths together. “I hope that wasn’t overly Casablanca,” he said after he reluctantly let go.
Peter nuzzled him. “Not overly. I had a great time. See you in the office.”
Back in bed, hearing Peter’s car start, Neal reflected with a smile that he’d have to remind him not to whistle on his way out.
*******
Author: Esmeralda (laesmeralda)
Fandom: White Collar
Dramatis Personae: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Feedback: Responses, including constructive criticism, are welcome.
Original Date: Written March 2012
*******
Tribulation: Part 1
Tribulation: Part 2
*******
The first woman since Kate to lay Neal’s brains out, although something of a predator, left behind a white rosebud on her hotel pillow. It seemed to him an acknowledgement that she’d sensed his pain somewhere during the athletics. Or maybe it was just her calling card.
He had observed that heiresses can procure all sorts of unusual things at odd hours without the interruption of knocks or ringing doorbells-and the flower was the tamest of items this particular specimen had produced throughout the night. It was also her most surprising act, although he discovered a close second in the open closet-she had caused his shirt to be laundered, suit pressed, shoes shined, and a lovely new tie was draped over the shirt to replace the trophy she had apparently taken. Knowing he could go straight to work took the sting out of finding and disposing of various pieces of used latex before showering so that task wouldn’t fall to the maids. He still tipped extra for champagne-soaked sheets (he had actually imbibed none of the sparkling wine), extensive smudges on the black marble coffee table, and general disarray.
He removed a few thorns and buttonholed the rose for the office that day. His body felt great, his mind was clear, and the new tie rocked.
Before he even hit the FBI elevator, he surmised that Peter would already know that his anklet hadn’t made it home. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but everything was business as usual. No stern looks. No lecture. The bit of disappointment he felt that Peter wasn’t miffed actually embarrassed him.
*******
A few nights later, he was drawing in the kitchen, listening to Mahler and the heavy rain, when that distinctive knock sounded. He looked at the door in surprise. Peter would have called if they had a case and his phone had been silent at his elbow.
He wiped charcoal on a rag. Momentarily tempted to put on his hat, he unceremoniously crushed the urge.
Peter was mid-knock again when Neal opened the door. Peter’s coat was wet and so was his hair. June’s guest parking spot had been available all evening, so Peter must have hesitated outside. “Anything wrong?” Neal asked.
“Just felt like I should come over. See how you are.”
“It’s late and I’m not sleeping. How’d you know?”
Peter shrugged. “Am I interrupting… anything this time?”
Naked from the waist up, Neal couldn’t fault the question. He showed his smudged hands. “I was just drawing. Here, give me your coat. So, Elizabeth’s been out of town two days.”
“Yeah.
“And you’re not sleeping either.” This could possibly be the second consecutive late night Peter had driven over to notice that Neal’s lights were on. “Beer?” Neal headed for the fridge. Moving would help conceal his nerves. On his way, he casually hit the button to draw the heavier curtains.
“Since when do you keep beer on hand?”
Neal turned and dramatically raised an eyebrow. It had the desired effect of eliciting a chuckle. After handing off the bottle, Neal parked a hip against the table, arms folded, and watched Peter sip and carefully page through the open sketchbook. Nothing incriminating there. Fortunately.
“You’re talented.”
“Thank you.” False modesty was pointless. He hadn’t gone to jail for artistic flaws.
Peter set aside his beer. “In many pursuits.”
It sounded like sexual innuendo to Neal. In keeping with his no-more-fantasy approach, he decided that must be only because the beer had lowered the timbre of Peter’s voice. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Define trouble,” Peter replied. He wasn’t making eye contact.
“You here to warn me that I’m going back to prison?”
Startled, Peter looked up. “Have you done something?”
Neal shrugged. “The bureau bundling me off on a whim is just one of several likely reasons for you being here at this hour without calling ahead. Offer me an alternative explanation.” Now that a case, personal catastrophe, and criminal prosecution had been eliminated, Neal was pretty sure he understood the purpose of the visit but wasn’t going to presume.
Peter rubbed what should have been well-past-five-o’clock shadow that he, interestingly, didn’t have. “I suck at this.”
Neal contemplated the possible meanings hidden in Peter shaving before his visit. “That all depends upon what this is.”
“Last time I came over, it was to offer support.”
“And you were very good at that.” It was said, and meant, sincerely, and perhaps there was just a bit of lust he couldn’t keep out of his voice. “Is that why you’re here now?”
Peter’s head nodded side to side. “Worry at your seemingly chronic insomnia is one of the reasons I came up.” He glanced at the considerable pile of used tissues within reach.
“My insomnia is apparently your insomnia,” Neal replied. He didn’t carry on with a tease that Peter’s personal attention to his wakefulness was going beyond the call of duty. “No need to worry about my grief process, Peter. It’s going to be along haul, but I’m not hiding it from you or Moz anymore. That helps.”
“I said worry was one of the reasons.” Peter almost reached for the beer bottle, and checked himself. He took a moment. “On the phone a month ago, I chickened out.”
Neal took a deep breath and considered carefully what to say. “Ah, the complicated part.”
“So hear me out this time and I’ll manage it. Don’t do that ‘Mr. C tries to make everything smooth’ thing you do.”
Neal stifled a smile. “Okay.”
“Okay then.” Peter shifted his stance, trying to settle, and finally leaned on the counter. “When you let me… be comforting… I was glad I could be there for you. I told you on the phone that I’ve become attached. And I had done such a poor job of talking to you at the hanger. I lectured and didn’t tell you how much I didn’t want you to go. Personally. Not as an asset. It was a big relief to be able to show it and to be of some help.” His voice thickened for a moment.
Neal started to say something, and Peter held up a warning hand.
“Not finished. I started out feeling very older-brother and pleased with myself. But after you were just there quietly, it became… different. I started to notice things like how you smelled, how your body felt-guy smell, guy feel.” Peter fiddled with the bottle cap, giving it more scrutiny than necessary to keep it turning. “It was exquisitely good to hold you,” he admitted. “Like the universe settled for a moment. I realized that I always look forward to what little physical contact we have.” Peter’s eyes flicked up, and they seemed darker than usual, the brown deeper, before they focused back on the bottle cap. “I said it wasn’t consensual. Didn’t mean it couldn’t have been. That’s what I had to own. It wasn’t all you. Okay, now I’m done.” He flicked the bottle cap across the kitchen into the recycling and took a short slug from the bottle, remarkably, still mostly full.
Neal understood how difficult that set of declarations had to have been. “You’re an even braver man than I gave you credit for,” he said, carefully, “but sometimes when people feel close in extreme situations, feelings get confused.”
Peter took on a somewhat vacant look, enough that Neal could hope he was maybe finding himself a little bit back there on the couch, in a good way. And then he focused again. “Is that what it was for you, confusion?” Peter asked.
Neal could see the pulse rabbiting in Peter’s neck. “You keep asking me to do the right thing, and that day… was so not the right way to go. I lost impulse control. But I’m trying to do the right thing here and now.”
“I’m asking, because I’m not confused at all. It took some time. I could have handled it better instead of just seeming to go on like nothing happened but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry for that.”
Still unwilling to facilitate, Neal waited.
“There is one thing that keeps nagging at me. It’s that… why would you, of all people… what I mean to say is that you’re young, and annoyingly good-looking, and crazy smart. So why me?” Peter looked genuinely puzzled.
It was a charmingly different reason for “why” than Neal had asked himself weeks ago staring down at Peter, and his resolve wavered in the face of it. So he tried to be matter-of-fact. “I’m ignoring the possible self-esteem problem the question suggests because that would be bullshit. And I prefer to pay compliments spontaneously. Younger women often go for older men-your wife for one.” He purposefully caught Peter’s eyes for the next part. “But maybe the issue is that you still don’t trust me. I can tell you what it isn’t. It isn’t your position. It isn’t what you can or can’t do for me. I understand that might seem difficult to believe, but you already try so hard not to favor me that you disfavor me. How does that help me?” Neal leaned forward, just a bit, to convey his intent. “We don’t choose who attracts us, Peter, or who we love. We only choose what we do about it.”
Peter moved away from the counter slowly, deliberately. It wasn’t the grabbing rush that Neal expected from men and knew how to field. Instead, Peter stepped up and put his hand on Neal’s face, tipped it just the tiny bit needed and looked right in his eyes. Searchingly. It was so intensely direct that Neal wanted to shy away. Again, Peter was proving braver. And smarter. That very difficult gaze said much more about complexity than words could. Fear, conflict, empathy, intimacy, it was all there, along with raw connection. It said, among many other things, that even if-when-the consequences got dicey, Peter wasn’t going anywhere and that he understood the foundation truth of Neal, that if anyone ran, it would be Neal.
It went to Neal’s core. He stepped their bodies together and offered his mouth, leaving just the last inch for Peter to choose. Not every guy was into that sort of thing, especially not with the lights on, eyes locked. Apparently, Peter was.
And he was such a fine kisser after all that Neal couldn’t resist testing him, yielding and pursuing, and he found himself becoming increasingly, raggedly breathless as Peter softened at Neal’s aggression and came after him just as Neal eased off. Finally, Neal broke away and buried his face in Peter’s neck. “Wow,” he whispered.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Peter sounded much more cavalier than his thumping heart would suggest he could. He brushed his nose along Neal’s neck, breathing him in, and Neal arched into him, leaving no room for doubt about either man’s state. Peter’s arms tightened around him, his hands sliding along bare skin, holding him, this time acknowledging all the complexity of the act.
Neal’s whole body seemed electrified from the inside out, something he had felt on a couple of more interesting substances and once or twice with Kate. He felt reckless, joyous with the sensation. In the arms of someone who wouldn’t hesitate, he would have simply followed, surrendered, and enjoyed whatever happened. But he was pretty sure he was expected to provide some direction.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Peter asked, lips just behind Neal’s ear, which didn’t help Neal’s composure.
“I’m… I hate to trot out a tired metaphor, but you led masterfully there and I’m having trouble switching roles mid-song.”
“Then don’t.” Peter bit softly into Neal’s neck, running his tongue over the pulse. Neal gasped. Keeping a firm grip, Peter maneuvered them out of the kitchen, kicked off his shoes, and urged Neal up onto the bed underneath him. “The last time I put you into this bed was far too chaste.”
How the sound of the words hummed through Neal’s body then. “It’s what I needed. And I didn’t thank you.”
“Oh, yes you did.” The light filtering in from the kitchen left Peter’s face shadowed but his voice was low and growing warmer by the moment.
“Again, sorry for the hit and run,” Neal managed before Peter mouthed lower on his neck and rendered him speechless.
Peter’s lips lifted briefly. “Stop apologizing. It wasn’t technically consensual but that wasn’t the problem. I like sex to be reciprocal. Interactive.”
Neal bit back a groan. “Don’t think I didn’t enjoy it,” he whispered.
“Don’t think I didn’t relive it. Opening my eyes to see you... Jesus, Neal. Realizing that I wanted this.” His strong and sure hand found Neal through his trousers.
Neal reached up and tore Peter’s t-shirt open with his bare hands. So ended witty repartee.
Novice and not, they coordinated remarkably well. Peter discovered that many places on Neal’s skin were erogenous, and Neal let him explore. He kept hands on Peter when he could surface enough to move.
He was restored to lucidity when Peter asked Neal if El would be safe-one of the more loaded questions demanding pure integrity that he’d ever been asked-and when he answered, “yes, absolutely,” not knowing what would happen, he discovered that Peter was very, very good at reciprocal, long delays notwithstanding.
It was probably an illusion that his orgasm had lasted five minutes, or that lightning bolts had blazed around the room, but he did have to untangle his fingers from Peter’s hair afterward. A tousled Peter sat up and smiled happily down at Neal.
“Amazing.” Neal smiled back. “But didn’t that freak you out a little?”
“The first time you went down on a woman-didn’t that freak you out a little? I don’t mind admitting it. That was like,” he rolled his eyes up as though calculating, “many hundreds of times ago, so it didn’t really stop me.” The most substantial evidence that he was doing just fine was quite close by.
“Touché.” Neal rolled over, pressing Peter back on the sheets, “Let’s not rush you this time.” He tried hard to make up for the afternoon gone awry, soaking in every detail and surfing Peter through the big water until the right wave to ride came along.
*******
Neal woke up first, instinctively wary enough not to sleep through until daylight. He watched Peter for a minute or two, wondering how anyone could sleep on their stomach. And then he couldn’t resist running his hand along the small of Peter’s back, up over his ass, back and forth, wiping away a charcoal thumb print along the way.
“I was having a swell nap. What gives?” Peter smiled and stretched, rolling to his side and propping on an elbow.
“Just looking at your fine ass.”
Peter’s expression suddenly turned more serious. “On that note, I don’t want to overthink, but I should probably say out loud that I don’t believe I could actually… fuck or be fucked. Not per se.”
“Now you tell me.” Neal teased and then reached out to touch Peter’s lips. “Suits me just fine. Not being a pain-with-pleasure guy, I never was much of a bottom myself. Knowing that makes it difficult to top unless I’m absolutely sure the other person is into it.”
Peter’s brows drew together. “In prison, did anyone ever hurt you?” his voice went gruff.
The protectiveness felt nice. “I always have loyal bodyguards. And I don’t really need them. My greater talents do not lie in sexual favors as it turns out.”
“Liar,” Peter shot back, relief visible.
“We have work tomorrow-today. So we have to prepare, now that we’re running a long con.”
Peter looked bemused, and Neal noted, also wonderfully, sleepily handsome. “On whom?” Peter asked.
“Everyone but your wife.”
“Oh.”
Neal enjoyed the shifting expressions moving over Peter’s face. “That is, if anything like this might ever happen again.” He didn’t mean it to sound like a question.
Peter snorted. There was some stubble by now, and he scrubbed a hand over it. “I’m still enjoying afterglow, and you’re already plotting.”
“It’s protective plotting,” Neal sounded mildly outraged. But he liked that Peter would admit to afterglow. It was promising.
“We’re smart guys, right? Mature. We know better than to snog in the office or the car. Not much more to it than that.”
“Oh, snog, very British. So look, I’m going to keep right on making hero-worship puppy eyes at you, and being snarky when you yank my leash, and nobody will be the wiser. You’re going to be the problem.”
“I haven’t been, have I?”
Neal thought about that. “It’s different, now though. Isn’t it. This was fully participatory.”
Peter smoothed his thumb along one of Neal’s eyebrows. “Neal. If nobody noticed me looking at you funny the whole last month, they aren’t going to.”
The rumble in his voice jolted deep in Neal’s belly. Too soon, not enough energy, but he felt it. He leaned over and kissed Peter to let him know. “We have to be careful on the phone from now on. Nothing in discussions that could be overheard, voicemail, texts, or emails.”
“Sounds restrictive.” Peter sighed. “We’ll figure it out. You can come up with a codebook if it makes you feel… more prepared.”
“Moz sweeps my place twice a week, so that’s all good. But he also pops over at odd hours. June is mother-hen watchful. They’ll expect you to be here, but they won’t expect me to hesitate to open the door for them when you’re here. We have to plan a cover for that. And then, there’s whomever ran Fowler. Apparently, we just aren’t uninteresting enough to fly under the radar.”
“Would Mozzie have a problem with this? Or June?”
Neal was stunned. “You wouldn’t care if they knew?”
“I don’t want to go around creating blackmail material, but short of that….” He shrugged. And then chuckled. “Most men worry about hiding an affair from their wife. This has to be one of the more unusual cases.”
“I wouldn’t call me an affair, exactly,” Neal said abruptly.
“No offense intended.” Peter looked at him askance. “More of a paramour?”
Neal wrinkled his nose and then realized Peter was teasing. He started to laugh. “Oh, you had me going.”
“Also utterly unacceptable-boyfriend,” Peter shuddered dramatically, “and the ubiquitous partner.” Peter slid to hover over Neal’s chest and watched him for a few breaths. “Inamorato, then.” He planted a kiss on Neal’s lips and rolled off, groping for his shorts on the floor. He looked back over his shoulder. “And yes, I know what it means.”
“I love it when you dust off arcane vocabulary,” Neal joked, to cover the wonderful shock of it. “Sorry, that was a deflection. What I mean is, the feeling is mutual.”
Peter smiled at him, softly, and then held up the shreds of his former t-shirt.
“Borrow one of mine.” Neal found his own shorts under one of the pillows and slid into them.
Peter snorted, pulling on his socks and pants. “Flattery… where else could it possibly get you?” He glanced at his watch. “I really gotta go or Satch will start howling soon. Walk me to the door?”
Neal leaned on the jamb while Peter buttoned his coat up all the way. He hadn’t even tried to struggle into one of Neal’s t-shirts. When he was done, Neal grabbed him by the lapels and hauled their mouths together. “I hope that wasn’t overly Casablanca,” he said after he reluctantly let go.
Peter nuzzled him. “Not overly. I had a great time. See you in the office.”
Back in bed, hearing Peter’s car start, Neal reflected with a smile that he’d have to remind him not to whistle on his way out.
*******