Artist's Hands (1/1)
I'm sorry if it sucks, it was written at 3 in the morning
Title: Artist's Hands
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Neal (implied P/E/N)
Summary: Peter watches Neal paint
Written for my kink bingo card: Voyeurism
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Peter knocked on Neal's door and opened it once he heard the muffled "come in". Neal was in slacks and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He's crouched, painting on a canvas propped on his easel. He glanced up and smiled at Peter by way of greeting before turning back to his painting. Peter glanced at his watch. They had to meet El for dinner in an hour. It was their "date night" that first Neal, and now El, insisted on.
"Hey Peter, I just need to finish this one last part." Neal said distractedly. Peter sighed and went to sit on Neal's couch. He knew Neal and he knew how Neal could get if Peter dragged him away from his art while he was on a "creative high". Peter swore the younger man could whine more than a five year old, so if Neal needed fifteen minutes to finish something and it would save Peter from a barrage of complaints all night, that was fine by him.
Peter looked around Neal's apartment, bored, before settling his gaze on Neal. The look on Neal's face was so intense; Peter couldn't help but stare at Neal, amazed. The look of immense concentration that had Neal completely cut off from the world around him was utterly hot, in Peter's opinion. The only other times he'd gotten a glimpse of that look was at work when Neal was looking at a good forgery.
Peter gapes openly at him, feeling more and more like a voyeur. He sees the way Neal's pink, wet tongue pokes out every so often to wet his lower lip. He sees the way Neal holds a paintbrush, his long, slender fingers grasping the handle, not too loose but not too tight. He saw as Neal moved the brush forward with just the right amount of pressure to leave a dab on the canvas in front of him. He sees, every time, when Neal's eyebrows furrow slightly when some mark he's made isn't quite perfect. He sees the miniscule, multicolored flecks of paint on Neal's hands, wrists, and up to his forearms. He watches the muscles in Neal's arm flex minutely as Neal puts more paint on the canvas.
Peter's gaze travels upward, over Neal's leanly defined biceps and chest. Up to his collarbone and neck, which has also somehow managed to get paint on it. Peter wanted to lick it away. He wanted to reach up and snatch the paintbrush right out of Neal's clever artist's hands and make Neal look at him with that intensity, that concentration. He wanted those bright, blue eyes to be completely focused on him, so that when Peter kissed him or touched him or did anything to him, Peter could watch as that intensity grew and grew before it shattered under Peter's hands.
Yeah, Peter was getting hard.
Only a few more seconds, and Neal was washing his brush out and rolling his sleeves down. Peter almost whined in disappointment.
"Alright, ready to go?" Neal asked absently, looking around for his suit jacket. Peter stood from the couch and crossed the room to stand near the door. Neal located his jacket and pulled it on. He turned toward Peter and looked him up and down, as if he had just arrived. His gaze fixes on the slight bulge in Peter's slacks and he smirks that infamous Neal Caffrey smirk.
"See something you like?" Neal asked teasingly, walking to where Peter was by the door.
Peter just lazily smiled back. "You wanna do something about it?" Peter said before reaching out to grab the back of Neal's head and pull him in for a deep kiss.
Neal is the one who breaks it and says, "I'd love to, but aren't we keeping El waiting?" with his most innocent smile in place before practically running out of his apartment.
Peter couldn't help but laugh at his lover's childlike ridiculousness. He willed his semi-erection to go down and walked out the door. Peter would get Neal back for being a tease tonight, and El would definitely be helping.
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END
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