Fic - White Collar - Dream On
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing(s): Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,600
Summary: Neal has a dream in which Peter plays a starring role. There is kissing involved.
Dream On
“Stop staring,” Peter said without looking up from the stack of papers he was trying to go through. It was hard to concentrate when he could feel Neal’s eyes trained on him, watching, boring holes right through him.
In his peripheral vision, Peter saw Neal start in his chair, surprised that he'd been caught.
Neal recovered quickly, cleared his throat and picked up a sheet of paper from the open folder in front of him, then glanced back up at Peter.
“I saw that,” Peter said, still refusing to regard Neal directly. He read the same word on the page five times and when he caught Neal looking a third time, he asked, “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” Neal said.
Peter did glance up now, only to find Neal studiously examining his open folder.
“Don’t tell me you’re bored with this case already.” Usually jewelry thefts were right up Neal’s alley. It had to beat another insurance case.
“It’s not the case,” Neal said, reaching out to turn a page.
“Then what’s the problem?”
Neal hummed and then said, “I don’t think you want to know.”
Peter set down his pen, closed the file he’d begun flipping through, and turned his full attention on Neal.
“What did you do?” Peter asked. He folded his hands on the desk.
“Nothing,” Neal said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Neal - “
“It’s just this dream I had last night.”
“A dream,” Peter repeated.
“It’s nothing,” Neal assured him. “I don’t want to bother you with it. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Peter said, but Neal had his interest now and if Neal insisted on distracting them from the case, Peter might as well try to get some enjoyment out of it. “In this dream of yours, did you drive me so far up a wall that I was forced to plant false evidence so that I could arrest you and throw you back in jail in order to regain my sanity?”
“No,” Neal said, then he narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair just slightly. “Jesus, Peter.”
Peter shrugged. “What then?”
“Okay,” Neal said, leaned in. “Since you’re pushing for information, in the dream we were kissing.”
“Who?”
“You, Peter. You and me. Kissing,” Neal repeated. He pulled back again and folded his arms across his chest before he continued, his voice resuming its usual volume. “It was - it was weird. Good in the dream, weird and vaguely disturbing now.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say. He’d had plenty of strange dreams. He had a dream once where he was hitting on El’s mother, feeding her strawberries and - Peter shivered at the memory and Neal raised his eyebrows.
“Nevermind,” Peter said. He tried to focus on the problem at hand and carefully explained, “You know, there are times in life when it is appropriate to lie to someone.”
Neal looked closed off now and he shrugged, the gesture tight beneath his folded arms. “You asked.”
“Next time just tell me there’s mustard on my chin.”
**
“How was your day?” El asked when Peter emerged from the kitchen balancing his beer, a glass of wine, and a bowl of popcorn.
Peter set the popcorn on the coffee table and sighed.
“That’s not good,” Elizabeth guessed.
“Caffrey had a dream about me.”
“Oh? What kind of dream?” El asked. She curled her feet beneath her as she took the wine glass that Peter held out. By the way that she was smiling, Peter could tell she’d already guessed.
Peter sat heavily on the couch and popped open his can of beer. “There was kissing involved.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, long enough that Peter glanced over to make sure she was still listening. Peter realized she must have guessed wrong, and just as he thought to ask her what she’d expected him to say, Peter's words seemed to sink in and the laughter began.
“Okay,” Peter said, trying to stop himself from smiling. “Okay.”
“He had a kissing dream about you and he told you about it?” Elizabeth asked. “Usually the dream about the boss is the dream you keep to yourself.”
Peter shook his head. “Usually doesn’t usually apply to Neal.”
She was still laughing, contagious giggles that Peter was determined not to catch. He was failing and he felt the smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued. “He spent all morning staring at my mouth. It must have been some kiss.”
Elizabeth set down her wine before she spilled it on the couch. Eventually she managed to get control over herself and said, a little breathless, “Poor Neal.”
“Poor Neal? How about poor Peter?”
“Yes, honey, I’m sure it was very hard having Neal’s attention focused on you all day.”
“It was, actually,” Peter sniffed. “Wait, you think it was hard for Neal?”
“I think if Neal is lonely enough that the only dream material he has is you, then - “
“Wait,” Peter said, held up a hand to cut her off. “I heard you wrong. I think what you meant to say was ‘Neal Caffrey would be lucky to lock lips with a guy like you, dear.’”
Elizabeth was laughing at him again. Peter wanted to be annoyed with her now, but he found himself finally giving in to her laughter instead, turned his head away to try to hide the chuckle. He was too slow though, he’d been caught, and El reached for him, leaning in to kiss.
“How do you suppose Neal imagines you would kiss him?” Elizabeth asked, her mouth still close to Peter’s.
She was teasing, still, but when she leaned in toward Peter’s ear and added, “Kiss me like you’d kiss Neal,” Peter took the bait, pulled her closer against him and kissed her hard, licked into her smiling mouth until she melted against him, popcorn and a movie forgotten on the table. Peter pushed his wife back onto the sofa and tried not to think that this might be exactly how he’d kissed Neal Caffrey.
**
“I see what you’re doing,” Peter hissed, pulling Neal aside. They were in public. Neal could at least try to be discrete about it.
Neal looked down at Peter’s hand on his arm and Peter released him. His hands were sweating and he wiped his palm on his jacket.
“Are you even paying attention to anything Mrs. Whitestone has been saying?” Peter asked.
Mrs. Whitestone had been waxing poetic on the generosity of Grace Vanderbilt for forty minutes. The missing necklace was a gift from Grace to Mrs. Whitestone’s own mother, given when Whitestone was a child. She grew up loving that necklace, touching it with delicate fingers where it rested in the safety of her mother’s jewelry box, counting the days until her mother would gift it to her on her wedding day. Mrs. Whitestone would recognize it anywhere, she was sure. Despite this, it took her an entire weekend of wearing it before a family member pointed out that she was wearing a lousy reproduction of her precious heirloom. Then again, Mrs. Whitestone was 93 so Peter was willing to cut her some slack.
“Yes,” Neal said. “I was listening, but I already know where to find the necklace. I don’t need the entire history of the piece.”
“Oh,” Peter said with a nod. “You do, do you.”
“Sure,” Neal said, shrugged. “Her granddaughter stole it. She and her equally unpleasant looking boyfriend have it. This case is a waste of our time.”
“How do you -“
“It’s not even a good fake,” Neal complained. “The daughter left for Italy last month. I’ll bet you $200 dollars that was when the necklace went missing.”
“I’m not giving you any money. And you don’t get to choose which cases are worthy of your attention,” Peter said, but he was thinking about it now, about how before Grace Vanderbilt came into the conversation, Mrs. Whitestone had showed them pictures of the rest of her family, the tone of her voice as she showed them the photograph of her granddaughter, Celia, and her boyfriend, both scowling for the camera. Peter was starting to think that Neal might be right and he made a note to check up on the granddaughter. If Peter hadn’t been so distracted by Neal’s unprofessional preoccupation with Peter’s mouth, maybe he would have figured it out by now on his own.
“Peter,” Neal sighed now. As though Peter was the one exasperating him.
Peter glanced over Neal’s shoulder to make sure that Jones was still listening to Mrs. Whitestone, then he turned back to Neal.
“What is wrong with you now?” Peter demanded. He made sure to keep his voice low enough so as not to interrupt. “Don’t tell me you had another dream.”
“No,” Neal said. “Not another dream.” Neal paused and then added, “But there’s mustard on your chin.”
Peter wiped at his face before he realized what Neal was actually getting at.
“Stop,” Peter ordered in his carefully controlled whisper. “Stop dreaming about me.” He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation, but unfortunately it was a conversation that had to be had. Peter poked two fingers against Neal’s chest for emphasis. “Stop,” he said again.
Neal looked down at Peter’s fingers for a moment before he let his gaze return to Peter’s face. Not his eyes, no, instead they settled back on Peter’s mouth.
Peter snapped his fingers in front of Neal’s face and Neal pulled himself together.
“You can’t control a dream, Peter.”
It was hard to speak through clenched teeth, but Peter managed to squeeze out one single word. “Try.”
**
Later, once Jones had explicit instructions to find out everything there was to know about Mrs. Whitestone’s granddaughter, Peter sat behind the steering wheel of his car and stared carefully at the traffic ahead of him. He wanted to let it go. He wanted to never talk about it again in the hopes that Neal would forget and they could fall back into the sporadically comfortable partnership they’d managed to forge.
It wasn’t happening. Peter tried to concentrate on the road, but instead he was concentrating on Neal, and finally he gave in to it and spoke up.
“When’s the last time - ?“ Peter tried, and then changed his mind and went with, “Have you thought about - ?“
Here Peter sighed and twisted his hands on the steering wheel before starting over completely.
“You should start dating again.”
Neal snorted beside him. It was far from charming. “Start dating who?”
“Anyone,” Peter said. “I don’t care.”
Peter half expected Neal to bring up Kate next, was preparing himself for it, but instead Neal said, “Have you ever tried to win over a date by showing off your government issued tracking anklet?”
“Okay,” Peter conceded, sure that Neal probably had a point, but equally sure that there were plenty of women (and men, Peter mentally added) that would gladly overlook a criminal record for a chance with Neal.
The car was quiet for several stoplights and finally Peter sighed, ready to try out a new tactic. “Well, you should probably know that I’m really an awful kisser.”
Peter was actively not glancing over toward the passenger seat, but he could see Neal smiling out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into the Bureau’s parking garage.
“You know, I don’t believe you,” Neal said, sitting patiently while Peter parked his car.
Peter did look at him then, had to in order to prove his honesty. “You can ask El.”
“El is the main reason that I don’t believe you,” Neal said as he got out of the car. He turned and leaned back in to add, “But I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
**
“Why don’t you just kiss him?” Elizabeth asked, lying beside Peter in bed.
“How would that solve anything?” Peter asked the ceiling. “That would just make everything much much worse.”
He felt Elizabeth shrug beside him and Peter got the feeling that maybe El wasn’t trying to solve his problem for him, that maybe she just liked the mental image that her solution created. Peter pictured it, his hand in Neal’s hair as Neal leaned in, the way Neal’s sharp blue eyes would dart from Peter’s eyes to his mouth as they came together, as they had that afternoon in Mrs. Whitestone’s foyer. Peter shook his head and cleared his throat.
Elizabeth rolled onto her side and settled her hand across his chest, her fingers rubbing lazy circles into his skin.
“Technically,” Peter said. “I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment. I could bring Neal up on charges for this.”
“Maybe,” Elizabeth murmured into his shoulder.
“I should probably bring that to his attention,” Peter decided.
“You could,” Elizabeth agreed, but the tone of her voice told Peter that she liked this idea much less than her own.
And that was when Peter came up with an even better plan.
He tipped his head to kiss El’s hair.
“Honey,” he started, still leaning in toward her. “Would it really be okay with you if I kissed Neal Caffrey?”
Elizabeth shifted, propped herself up on an elbow to see him more clearly, to make sure that he was serious. When she saw that he was, she said, “You know, just this once, I think I can say yes, Peter, I fully support you kissing someone other than your wife.”
Peter opened his mouth to thank her, but she held up a hand, not quite finished. “As long as I get a full report with details.”
“Okay,” Peter said, but she made a noise and he shut his mouth and waited for her to continue.
“And if there ends up being a second kiss, I want to be there for that.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “There isn’t going to be a second kiss. There shouldn’t even be a first kiss. Neal works for me. You don’t see me going around having to kiss Jones to get him to stop ogling, do you?”
“Oh, all right,” Elizabeth sighed the sigh of a long suffering spouse. “If that’s what you want, I give you permission to kiss Jones too.”
**
The next morning Neal walked into Peter's office without knocking and said, “You’re going to like this."
“What am I going to like?” Peter asked doubtfully. He looked up from his computer. Neal was standing beside his desk, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at Peter.
“I have a date this weekend,” Neal announced. He leaned in toward Peter as he said it, his expression showing his satisfaction with himself.
“With who?” Peter asked immediately. He’d expected Neal to announce that there was an exciting new exhibit at the Met or a new play that would be of absolutely no interest to Peter. He didn’t expect Neal to come back, less than twenty four hours after Peter suggested he start dating, with his first date already lined up.
“Her name is Shelley,” Neal said. He sat down in the chair opposite Peter.
“And how did you meet Shelley?” Peter asked. Suddenly it looked like Peter may not have to put his plan into action after all. He should be thrilled that Neal took his advice, both to move on from his recent preoccupation and to start seeing people again. Peter was thrilled, but he was also just a little suspicious.
“Shelley is the daughter of June’s good friend Gladys,” Neal said, reciting it as though it was an answer he’d memorized in direct preparation for Peter’s interrogation.
“Shelley knows that you’re a kept man?” Peter asked and then cringed. Wrong word choice.
Neal didn’t comment on it, just shrugged and said, “I come with June’s recommendation. That’s enough for Shelley.”
“Well good then,” Peter concluded.
Neal nodded and stood from the chair. At the door he turned and said, “You’re going to look into her, aren’t you?”
Now it was Peter’s turn to shrug. “I save background checks for the second date.”
He was kidding. Mostly.
**
Neal appeared to be back in the game. Confident. Focused. About as focused as he ever was on a case like Mrs. Whitestone’s anyway.
Peter caught himself watching Neal, trying to catch Neal stealing a glance. He looked for that thoughtful expression Neal’d had on and off the last few days. As though Neal was spending all of his time contemplating Peter’s prospects, deciding whether he should pursue.
Nothing. Just normal everyday expressions coming from Neal now. This Shelley must be something.
Eventually Neal decided to stop pretending that he didn’t notice that Peter had been watching him and said, “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Peter said. “I’m just surprised.”
“That I can find a date?” Neal laughed, giving away what Peter already knew. Even Neal was aware that the tracker couldn’t chase them all away. Not when it was competing with the full charm of Neal Caffrey.
“No,” Peter said. “I knew you could find a date. I’m just impressed. You aren’t curious about kissing me at all anymore? You’re over it?”
“That was what you wanted,” Neal pointed out.
“I know,” Peter said. Still. How often did Neal do exactly as Peter asked?
“And I never said I was curious. I felt - I believe my exact words were ‘weird and disturbing.’”
“Right,” Peter said, but he knew this game. Neal never said it, that was true, but it had been written all over his face for days.
Neal studied him for a moment and then said, “You seem disappointed.”
“I have never been more thrilled,” Peter disagreed.
Neal didn’t look like he was buying anything that Peter was selling at all and later that afternoon he reappeared in Peter’s office.
“Good afternoon, Neal,” Peter said in greeting. “Our case has been solved.”
“Yeah?” Neal asked. “It was the granddaughter and the boyfriend, right?”
“They found Celia Whitesone and Russell James in Italy,” Peter said. “They had the necklace.”
“You owe me two hundred -“
“No,” Peter cut in before Neal had a chance to finish the thought. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Oh,” Neal said. “I just spoke to Shelley. Our date’s off.”
“Already?” Peter asked. It didn’t take long for Neal to screw that one up.
“Yeah,” Neal sighed. “What can you do? You do the crime, you’ve gotta - “ Neal waved a hand, dismissive. “I guess it’s just me and my dreams again.”
“Neal,” Peter warned.
Neal was looking down at his shoes. He shrugged, but didn’t look up at Peter.
“Let’s go,” Peter said with a sigh. He stood from his desk and nudged Neal back out the door.
“Where are we going?” Neal asked.
“Official business,” Peter said, and it seemed to be enough of an explanation. Neal fell into step beside Peter, followed him into the elevator and down to the car.
“New case?” Neal asked when they were several blocks from the office. Peter circled until he found a parking spot, pulled in and left the car running.
When Peter made no move to get out, Neal sighed and said, “I wish you would have given me more notice of a stakeout. I would have brought a book.”
“This isn’t a stakeout,” Peter said.
“Oh, thank God,” Neal said in a rush. He reached for the door handle, paused when Peter reached out to stop him.
“Stay in the car.”
Neal groaned. “Please don’t tell me you brought me out here to babysit your car.”
Peter shook his head. “We’re putting an end to this thing,” he said. “This kissing thing. Here and now.”
Neal didn’t expect the turn of conversation and his expression was blank for a solid fifteen seconds before he started to talk again. “Peter -“
“Let’s go, Caffrey,” Peter cut in, impatient to get it over with now that they were here. “We’ve got ten minutes. Go ahead and kiss me.”
“Peter,” Neal said again, only this time the tone could only be described as scandalized. “I don’t think this is appropriate, do you?”
“Oh, come on,” Peter said. “Nothing that has happened between us the past two days has been appropriate.” Peter looked at his watch then added, “Eight minutes.”
“You’re serious about this?” Neal asked. “You really want me to kiss you?”
“Seven minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Okay,” Neal said. “Stop counting.”
Peter lowered his watch. Neal reached out and pulled at Peter’s jacket and Peter cooperated, leaned across the center console toward Neal.
Neal checked Peter’s face one more time, paused to make sure Peter didn’t want to back out at the last minute.
“Neal,” Peter warned, but that was as far as he got before Neal leaned in and pressed his lips to Peter’s. They both froze there, stuck, mouths pressed awkwardly together, and then Neal slid his hand behind Peter’s neck, pulled him even closer, and began to kiss.
It took Peter longer than Neal to get a hold of himself. It took Peter a full twenty seconds of being kissed by Neal Caffrey before he remembered why he was doing this. Peter had to stay focused if he was going to make it work. Twenty seconds was enough time for Peter to tell that Neal was a very good kisser. Twenty seconds was plenty of time for Peter to realize that he was going to have to work hard to make this the most disappointing first kiss Neal’d ever had.
Peter started simple, refused to let the kiss find a pleasing rhythm. When Neal moved in, Peter pulled away and when Neal tried to follow Peter’s lead and pull back, Peter surged forward. Neal tried again and again to adjust his pace to match Peter, but Peter was ahead of him. He made sure to change course sporadically as soon as Neal caught up.
Peter needed this to be bad, but believable. It would never work if Neal caught on to the fact that he was doing it on purpose.
Neal seemed determined from the start. He patiently shifted when Peter’s nose bumped into his. When Peter moved so that their noses knocked a second time, Neal shifted again, reached up and held Peter’s head in place.
It wasn’t that Peter was entirely against the idea of kissing Neal. He could see some merits. Neal was a good kisser. He was smart, talented. He was certainly beautiful. And most importantly, Peter liked him. Peter had always liked him, even when Neal was busy slipping through Peter’s fingers, keeping Peter up nights, always one step ahead. Even then Peter had to admit, through the many layers of frustration, that he liked Neal.
None of that mattered now. What mattered was that they still had three years ahead of them. Another three years of Peter watching Neal’s every move, of keeping Neal out of trouble. More importantly, out of jail. Peter had a responsibility to Neal, just as much as Neal did to Peter, maybe moreso. This, wherever it might go, could not get in the way of the big picture. The big picture, in which Neal was not painted from behind bars.
Neal opened his mouth then and introduced his tongue to their kiss, pulling Peter back from his thoughts. Peter didn’t expect it, not right then, and for a moment Peter was stunned out of his mission. He felt the slide of Neal’s tongue against his and he squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to breathe.
It was Neal that brought him back. Neal made a noise, the sound a little too triumphant to Peter’s ears, a little too satisfied with himself, and it was exactly what Peter needed to hear to pull him back into the game.
Neal wanted tongue, so Peter gave him too much, used a few tips that he’d learned from Satchmo over the years. Neal gripped the back of Peter’s neck a little tighter, suffered through the tongue bath as he changed the angle of the kiss again. Eventually Neal regained the upper hand, managed to lock Peter in and sucked at Peter’s tongue.
Well, shit.
Peter’s entire body was thrumming with the wet hot pulse of Neal’s mouth. This had to end soon or Peter was going to give up, was going to willingly lose himself to the taste of Neal on his tongue.
Peter pressed his thigh hard into the center console, his arm into the seat cushion at an uncomfortable angle behind him. He concentrated on this new discomfort and it worked a little, just enough to keep him rational.
Once he managed to push back from the brink of an overload, Peter began to pull away from Neal. He had to change this, couldn’t handle the thrust of his tongue into Neal’s waiting mouth for much longer. Peter pulled away and Neal followed until Peter was forced to resort for his final weapon, their chins knocking as Peter surged forward and bit Neal’s tongue.
Neal made a muffled sound of pain and released Peter, covered his mouth with his hand.
“Sorry,” Peter said, displeased with the breathless quality to his voice. “I was going for - that was supposed to be a lip nibble.”
Neal made a face, probably because ‘lip nibble’ sounded ridiculous when said by Peter Burke.
“It’s okay,” Neal said, the words thick in his mouth. Neal sounded a little breathless too.
He reached for Peter and Peter almost panicked, but Neal was only going for his wrist. He turned it to check the time on Peter’s watch.
“Seven minutes are up,” Peter confirmed and didn’t point out that Neal could have checked the digital clock on the dashboard without going out of his way to touch Peter again.
Neal sat back in the passenger seat, opened his mouth as though trying to crack his jaw, and then turned back to face Peter.
“That was - “
“Yeah,” Peter agreed.
“You weren’t kidding,” Neal said, eyebrows raised.
“I never kid.”
“But you - Elizabeth -“
“I have many other good qualities,” Peter pointed out. He started the car.
Neal was quiet for a block or two and then said, “I could give you a few pointers if you - “
“Neal,” Peter interrupted. “No.”
Neal held up his hands in surrender.
There was another bout of silence, this time interupted when Neal said, “Wow," to the air between them.
Peter glanced over and watched as Neal ran a hand through his hair, his face still painted in disbelief, and okay, Peter was starting to get a little offended. He was starting to think that maybe his plan worked too well.
If not for the tracker around Neal’s ankle, if not for the FBI, Peter would be tempted to pull over right now and set the record straight. But this was what needed to happen. This was what was best for everyone. And beside all that, Peter had promised that if he ever kissed Neal again, Elizabeth would be there for it.
Peter was never kissing Neal again.
Back in the garage Peter watched as Neal tried to straighten his suit. Neal’s lips looked a little swollen and Peter had to turn away, check the state of his own attire. When he looked up again, Caffrey was watching him.
“You okay?” Peter asked.
“Yeah,” Neal said. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and smiled. “I was thinking maybe I should give Shelley a call. Try to fix things, reschedule the date.”
Peter nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah?” Neal pressed the button for the elevator, then held the door open for Peter, standing aside so that Peter could slide by.
“Yeah,” Peter confirmed as he punched the button for the twenty first floor.
They were passing the eighth when Peter heard Neal’s echo, a third “yeah,” low and contemplative.
**
“Well?” Elizabeth asked when she came home to find Peter hunched over his work at the dining room table.
“Well what?” Peter asked. He leaned back into her kiss when she bent down to greet him.
“You and Neal,” El prodded. “You promised me a full recap, remember?”
“Oh,” Peter teased. “That.” Elizabeth swatted the back of his head. “I took care of it.”
“You took care of Neal thinking about kissing you by kissing him?” Elizabeth asked, still not clear on the plan. She pulled out her chair from the head of the table and sat down, angled her body toward Peter. “How did that work?”
Peter shrugged. “I kissed Neal badly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I made him believe that Peter Burke is a terrible kisser.”
“I’m not going to want details on this, am I?” Elizabeth sighed.
Peter looked down at the files for his new case. Insurance.
“Neal’s good,” Peter admitted to the files. “I could have - Neal’s got kissing down. He knows how to make you want to kiss him again.”
“You want to kiss him again?” Elizabeth asked, and despite her suggestion the night before, she seemed genuinely surprised.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” Peter said. “I bit his tongue. He’s probably sitting at home right now wondering how I’ve managed to hold on to such a beautiful, talented, intelligent woman for eleven years without knowing how to kiss her.” Peter smiled the satisfied smile of a job well done.
El smiled too and leaned forward in her chair to kiss Peter again.
“It must have been difficult,” Elizabeth said between kisses. “To pretend to be bad at something you’ve always been so good at.”
“Not always,” Peter countered.
“I didn’t know you when you were fifteen. It doesn’t count.”
Peter shrugged and shifted his chair closer to her, his knees on either side of her thighs.
Elizabeth set her hands on his knees, then scrunched up her face. She was formulating a question and Peter waited patiently for her to finish and spit it out.
“I’m not trying to put a dent in your armor, but Neal is nothing if not observant. You’re sure he didn’t see through you?”
“He bought it,” Peter assured her, tried not to remember Neal’s offer to teach Peter to kiss, the lingering desire to show Neal that the lessons weren’t actually needed at all.
“Oh,” Peter remembered then. “And he has a date.”
“Neal met someone?”
“A certain Shelley, daughter of a long time friend of June’s.”
“You looked into her,” El guessed.
“Not yet.”
“Peter - “
“I know, I know.”
Elizabeth took his face in her hands, turned him so that he had no choice but to look her in the eye. She held his gaze and eventually, apparently satisfied that Peter didn’t plan to start running the background check that very evening, El released him with a pat on the cheek.
“So a girlfriend for Neal and and no more dreams about the boss.”
“I think Neal has been cured,” Peter confirmed. “All in a day’s work.”
“Good,” El said, but Peter heard a hint of a question in her voice. He chose to ignore it. Good was exactly correct.
**
That night Peter dreamed about Neal.
Neal stood before Peter with a bottle of beer in one hand, a bowl of chips in the other. Peter could hear the game, but from his spot on his sofa he couldn’t seem to find it. Not without taking his eyes from Neal. Peter wasn’t ready for that. The game could wait.
“This is a dream,” Peter concluded aloud, as though spotting it would win him some kind of prize. He knew because Neal was wearing jeans and an old Mets t-shirt. He looked casual and relaxed. He looked like he forgot to put product in his hair.
“I forgot to tell you earlier,” Neal said, smiling as he set the bowl of chips on the table. He leaned over Peter, arms on either side of Peter’s shoulders, propped against the back of the couch.
Peter had already forgotten that he was supposed to remember that this was all a dream. He kissed Neal, knew it couldn’t get more real. Peter let his mouth fall open against Neal’s lips, accepted the slide of Neal’s tongue and used his own to ask for more. Neal shifted over him, climbed onto the couch until he was straddling Peter, kneeling over him.
Neal leaned down to nuzzle at Peter’s neck and Peter opened his eyes, caught sight of Elizabeth watching them from the dining room. She saw him looking over Neal’s shoulder and waved him away, indicated with her hands and her mouth that right now she’d rather have him kissing Neal than paying attention to her.
Peter lifted his arms from the couch, rested them on Neal’s hips instead. Neal’s cologne was sharp in Peter’s nose. He reached up and pulled Neal back, reclaimed Neal’s mouth. Neal’s answering moan poured into Peter’s throat and Peter thought, I told you so. I told you I was good at this. And then he remembered that Neal had been the one trying to tell him something.
He broke away from the kiss, had to stop Neal from moving back in with a restraining hand to Neal’s shoulder. Neal’s eyes were heavy and his lips were wet from Peter’s mouth. Peter swallowed hard and searched to find his voice.
“What did you forget to tell me?” Peter asked. “You said, earlier. You said you forgot to tell me something.”
Neal shrugged and leaned back in, smiled against Peter’s mouth, blue eyes so close that Peter felt like if he tried, he could see to the very center of Neal.
“It’s nothing,” Neal said. The words buzzed, vibrated against Peter’s lips. I just forgot to tell you that it’s contagious.”
Peter wanted to ask what, but he couldn’t. His mouth was consumed, his brain and his heart, too busy kissing Neal Caffrey to remember the question.
Pairing(s): Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,600
Summary: Neal has a dream in which Peter plays a starring role. There is kissing involved.
Dream On
“Stop staring,” Peter said without looking up from the stack of papers he was trying to go through. It was hard to concentrate when he could feel Neal’s eyes trained on him, watching, boring holes right through him.
In his peripheral vision, Peter saw Neal start in his chair, surprised that he'd been caught.
Neal recovered quickly, cleared his throat and picked up a sheet of paper from the open folder in front of him, then glanced back up at Peter.
“I saw that,” Peter said, still refusing to regard Neal directly. He read the same word on the page five times and when he caught Neal looking a third time, he asked, “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” Neal said.
Peter did glance up now, only to find Neal studiously examining his open folder.
“Don’t tell me you’re bored with this case already.” Usually jewelry thefts were right up Neal’s alley. It had to beat another insurance case.
“It’s not the case,” Neal said, reaching out to turn a page.
“Then what’s the problem?”
Neal hummed and then said, “I don’t think you want to know.”
Peter set down his pen, closed the file he’d begun flipping through, and turned his full attention on Neal.
“What did you do?” Peter asked. He folded his hands on the desk.
“Nothing,” Neal said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Neal - “
“It’s just this dream I had last night.”
“A dream,” Peter repeated.
“It’s nothing,” Neal assured him. “I don’t want to bother you with it. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Peter said, but Neal had his interest now and if Neal insisted on distracting them from the case, Peter might as well try to get some enjoyment out of it. “In this dream of yours, did you drive me so far up a wall that I was forced to plant false evidence so that I could arrest you and throw you back in jail in order to regain my sanity?”
“No,” Neal said, then he narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair just slightly. “Jesus, Peter.”
Peter shrugged. “What then?”
“Okay,” Neal said, leaned in. “Since you’re pushing for information, in the dream we were kissing.”
“Who?”
“You, Peter. You and me. Kissing,” Neal repeated. He pulled back again and folded his arms across his chest before he continued, his voice resuming its usual volume. “It was - it was weird. Good in the dream, weird and vaguely disturbing now.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say. He’d had plenty of strange dreams. He had a dream once where he was hitting on El’s mother, feeding her strawberries and - Peter shivered at the memory and Neal raised his eyebrows.
“Nevermind,” Peter said. He tried to focus on the problem at hand and carefully explained, “You know, there are times in life when it is appropriate to lie to someone.”
Neal looked closed off now and he shrugged, the gesture tight beneath his folded arms. “You asked.”
“Next time just tell me there’s mustard on my chin.”
**
“How was your day?” El asked when Peter emerged from the kitchen balancing his beer, a glass of wine, and a bowl of popcorn.
Peter set the popcorn on the coffee table and sighed.
“That’s not good,” Elizabeth guessed.
“Caffrey had a dream about me.”
“Oh? What kind of dream?” El asked. She curled her feet beneath her as she took the wine glass that Peter held out. By the way that she was smiling, Peter could tell she’d already guessed.
Peter sat heavily on the couch and popped open his can of beer. “There was kissing involved.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, long enough that Peter glanced over to make sure she was still listening. Peter realized she must have guessed wrong, and just as he thought to ask her what she’d expected him to say, Peter's words seemed to sink in and the laughter began.
“Okay,” Peter said, trying to stop himself from smiling. “Okay.”
“He had a kissing dream about you and he told you about it?” Elizabeth asked. “Usually the dream about the boss is the dream you keep to yourself.”
Peter shook his head. “Usually doesn’t usually apply to Neal.”
She was still laughing, contagious giggles that Peter was determined not to catch. He was failing and he felt the smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued. “He spent all morning staring at my mouth. It must have been some kiss.”
Elizabeth set down her wine before she spilled it on the couch. Eventually she managed to get control over herself and said, a little breathless, “Poor Neal.”
“Poor Neal? How about poor Peter?”
“Yes, honey, I’m sure it was very hard having Neal’s attention focused on you all day.”
“It was, actually,” Peter sniffed. “Wait, you think it was hard for Neal?”
“I think if Neal is lonely enough that the only dream material he has is you, then - “
“Wait,” Peter said, held up a hand to cut her off. “I heard you wrong. I think what you meant to say was ‘Neal Caffrey would be lucky to lock lips with a guy like you, dear.’”
Elizabeth was laughing at him again. Peter wanted to be annoyed with her now, but he found himself finally giving in to her laughter instead, turned his head away to try to hide the chuckle. He was too slow though, he’d been caught, and El reached for him, leaning in to kiss.
“How do you suppose Neal imagines you would kiss him?” Elizabeth asked, her mouth still close to Peter’s.
She was teasing, still, but when she leaned in toward Peter’s ear and added, “Kiss me like you’d kiss Neal,” Peter took the bait, pulled her closer against him and kissed her hard, licked into her smiling mouth until she melted against him, popcorn and a movie forgotten on the table. Peter pushed his wife back onto the sofa and tried not to think that this might be exactly how he’d kissed Neal Caffrey.
**
“I see what you’re doing,” Peter hissed, pulling Neal aside. They were in public. Neal could at least try to be discrete about it.
Neal looked down at Peter’s hand on his arm and Peter released him. His hands were sweating and he wiped his palm on his jacket.
“Are you even paying attention to anything Mrs. Whitestone has been saying?” Peter asked.
Mrs. Whitestone had been waxing poetic on the generosity of Grace Vanderbilt for forty minutes. The missing necklace was a gift from Grace to Mrs. Whitestone’s own mother, given when Whitestone was a child. She grew up loving that necklace, touching it with delicate fingers where it rested in the safety of her mother’s jewelry box, counting the days until her mother would gift it to her on her wedding day. Mrs. Whitestone would recognize it anywhere, she was sure. Despite this, it took her an entire weekend of wearing it before a family member pointed out that she was wearing a lousy reproduction of her precious heirloom. Then again, Mrs. Whitestone was 93 so Peter was willing to cut her some slack.
“Yes,” Neal said. “I was listening, but I already know where to find the necklace. I don’t need the entire history of the piece.”
“Oh,” Peter said with a nod. “You do, do you.”
“Sure,” Neal said, shrugged. “Her granddaughter stole it. She and her equally unpleasant looking boyfriend have it. This case is a waste of our time.”
“How do you -“
“It’s not even a good fake,” Neal complained. “The daughter left for Italy last month. I’ll bet you $200 dollars that was when the necklace went missing.”
“I’m not giving you any money. And you don’t get to choose which cases are worthy of your attention,” Peter said, but he was thinking about it now, about how before Grace Vanderbilt came into the conversation, Mrs. Whitestone had showed them pictures of the rest of her family, the tone of her voice as she showed them the photograph of her granddaughter, Celia, and her boyfriend, both scowling for the camera. Peter was starting to think that Neal might be right and he made a note to check up on the granddaughter. If Peter hadn’t been so distracted by Neal’s unprofessional preoccupation with Peter’s mouth, maybe he would have figured it out by now on his own.
“Peter,” Neal sighed now. As though Peter was the one exasperating him.
Peter glanced over Neal’s shoulder to make sure that Jones was still listening to Mrs. Whitestone, then he turned back to Neal.
“What is wrong with you now?” Peter demanded. He made sure to keep his voice low enough so as not to interrupt. “Don’t tell me you had another dream.”
“No,” Neal said. “Not another dream.” Neal paused and then added, “But there’s mustard on your chin.”
Peter wiped at his face before he realized what Neal was actually getting at.
“Stop,” Peter ordered in his carefully controlled whisper. “Stop dreaming about me.” He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation, but unfortunately it was a conversation that had to be had. Peter poked two fingers against Neal’s chest for emphasis. “Stop,” he said again.
Neal looked down at Peter’s fingers for a moment before he let his gaze return to Peter’s face. Not his eyes, no, instead they settled back on Peter’s mouth.
Peter snapped his fingers in front of Neal’s face and Neal pulled himself together.
“You can’t control a dream, Peter.”
It was hard to speak through clenched teeth, but Peter managed to squeeze out one single word. “Try.”
**
Later, once Jones had explicit instructions to find out everything there was to know about Mrs. Whitestone’s granddaughter, Peter sat behind the steering wheel of his car and stared carefully at the traffic ahead of him. He wanted to let it go. He wanted to never talk about it again in the hopes that Neal would forget and they could fall back into the sporadically comfortable partnership they’d managed to forge.
It wasn’t happening. Peter tried to concentrate on the road, but instead he was concentrating on Neal, and finally he gave in to it and spoke up.
“When’s the last time - ?“ Peter tried, and then changed his mind and went with, “Have you thought about - ?“
Here Peter sighed and twisted his hands on the steering wheel before starting over completely.
“You should start dating again.”
Neal snorted beside him. It was far from charming. “Start dating who?”
“Anyone,” Peter said. “I don’t care.”
Peter half expected Neal to bring up Kate next, was preparing himself for it, but instead Neal said, “Have you ever tried to win over a date by showing off your government issued tracking anklet?”
“Okay,” Peter conceded, sure that Neal probably had a point, but equally sure that there were plenty of women (and men, Peter mentally added) that would gladly overlook a criminal record for a chance with Neal.
The car was quiet for several stoplights and finally Peter sighed, ready to try out a new tactic. “Well, you should probably know that I’m really an awful kisser.”
Peter was actively not glancing over toward the passenger seat, but he could see Neal smiling out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into the Bureau’s parking garage.
“You know, I don’t believe you,” Neal said, sitting patiently while Peter parked his car.
Peter did look at him then, had to in order to prove his honesty. “You can ask El.”
“El is the main reason that I don’t believe you,” Neal said as he got out of the car. He turned and leaned back in to add, “But I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
**
“Why don’t you just kiss him?” Elizabeth asked, lying beside Peter in bed.
“How would that solve anything?” Peter asked the ceiling. “That would just make everything much much worse.”
He felt Elizabeth shrug beside him and Peter got the feeling that maybe El wasn’t trying to solve his problem for him, that maybe she just liked the mental image that her solution created. Peter pictured it, his hand in Neal’s hair as Neal leaned in, the way Neal’s sharp blue eyes would dart from Peter’s eyes to his mouth as they came together, as they had that afternoon in Mrs. Whitestone’s foyer. Peter shook his head and cleared his throat.
Elizabeth rolled onto her side and settled her hand across his chest, her fingers rubbing lazy circles into his skin.
“Technically,” Peter said. “I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment. I could bring Neal up on charges for this.”
“Maybe,” Elizabeth murmured into his shoulder.
“I should probably bring that to his attention,” Peter decided.
“You could,” Elizabeth agreed, but the tone of her voice told Peter that she liked this idea much less than her own.
And that was when Peter came up with an even better plan.
He tipped his head to kiss El’s hair.
“Honey,” he started, still leaning in toward her. “Would it really be okay with you if I kissed Neal Caffrey?”
Elizabeth shifted, propped herself up on an elbow to see him more clearly, to make sure that he was serious. When she saw that he was, she said, “You know, just this once, I think I can say yes, Peter, I fully support you kissing someone other than your wife.”
Peter opened his mouth to thank her, but she held up a hand, not quite finished. “As long as I get a full report with details.”
“Okay,” Peter said, but she made a noise and he shut his mouth and waited for her to continue.
“And if there ends up being a second kiss, I want to be there for that.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “There isn’t going to be a second kiss. There shouldn’t even be a first kiss. Neal works for me. You don’t see me going around having to kiss Jones to get him to stop ogling, do you?”
“Oh, all right,” Elizabeth sighed the sigh of a long suffering spouse. “If that’s what you want, I give you permission to kiss Jones too.”
**
The next morning Neal walked into Peter's office without knocking and said, “You’re going to like this."
“What am I going to like?” Peter asked doubtfully. He looked up from his computer. Neal was standing beside his desk, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at Peter.
“I have a date this weekend,” Neal announced. He leaned in toward Peter as he said it, his expression showing his satisfaction with himself.
“With who?” Peter asked immediately. He’d expected Neal to announce that there was an exciting new exhibit at the Met or a new play that would be of absolutely no interest to Peter. He didn’t expect Neal to come back, less than twenty four hours after Peter suggested he start dating, with his first date already lined up.
“Her name is Shelley,” Neal said. He sat down in the chair opposite Peter.
“And how did you meet Shelley?” Peter asked. Suddenly it looked like Peter may not have to put his plan into action after all. He should be thrilled that Neal took his advice, both to move on from his recent preoccupation and to start seeing people again. Peter was thrilled, but he was also just a little suspicious.
“Shelley is the daughter of June’s good friend Gladys,” Neal said, reciting it as though it was an answer he’d memorized in direct preparation for Peter’s interrogation.
“Shelley knows that you’re a kept man?” Peter asked and then cringed. Wrong word choice.
Neal didn’t comment on it, just shrugged and said, “I come with June’s recommendation. That’s enough for Shelley.”
“Well good then,” Peter concluded.
Neal nodded and stood from the chair. At the door he turned and said, “You’re going to look into her, aren’t you?”
Now it was Peter’s turn to shrug. “I save background checks for the second date.”
He was kidding. Mostly.
**
Neal appeared to be back in the game. Confident. Focused. About as focused as he ever was on a case like Mrs. Whitestone’s anyway.
Peter caught himself watching Neal, trying to catch Neal stealing a glance. He looked for that thoughtful expression Neal’d had on and off the last few days. As though Neal was spending all of his time contemplating Peter’s prospects, deciding whether he should pursue.
Nothing. Just normal everyday expressions coming from Neal now. This Shelley must be something.
Eventually Neal decided to stop pretending that he didn’t notice that Peter had been watching him and said, “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Peter said. “I’m just surprised.”
“That I can find a date?” Neal laughed, giving away what Peter already knew. Even Neal was aware that the tracker couldn’t chase them all away. Not when it was competing with the full charm of Neal Caffrey.
“No,” Peter said. “I knew you could find a date. I’m just impressed. You aren’t curious about kissing me at all anymore? You’re over it?”
“That was what you wanted,” Neal pointed out.
“I know,” Peter said. Still. How often did Neal do exactly as Peter asked?
“And I never said I was curious. I felt - I believe my exact words were ‘weird and disturbing.’”
“Right,” Peter said, but he knew this game. Neal never said it, that was true, but it had been written all over his face for days.
Neal studied him for a moment and then said, “You seem disappointed.”
“I have never been more thrilled,” Peter disagreed.
Neal didn’t look like he was buying anything that Peter was selling at all and later that afternoon he reappeared in Peter’s office.
“Good afternoon, Neal,” Peter said in greeting. “Our case has been solved.”
“Yeah?” Neal asked. “It was the granddaughter and the boyfriend, right?”
“They found Celia Whitesone and Russell James in Italy,” Peter said. “They had the necklace.”
“You owe me two hundred -“
“No,” Peter cut in before Neal had a chance to finish the thought. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Oh,” Neal said. “I just spoke to Shelley. Our date’s off.”
“Already?” Peter asked. It didn’t take long for Neal to screw that one up.
“Yeah,” Neal sighed. “What can you do? You do the crime, you’ve gotta - “ Neal waved a hand, dismissive. “I guess it’s just me and my dreams again.”
“Neal,” Peter warned.
Neal was looking down at his shoes. He shrugged, but didn’t look up at Peter.
“Let’s go,” Peter said with a sigh. He stood from his desk and nudged Neal back out the door.
“Where are we going?” Neal asked.
“Official business,” Peter said, and it seemed to be enough of an explanation. Neal fell into step beside Peter, followed him into the elevator and down to the car.
“New case?” Neal asked when they were several blocks from the office. Peter circled until he found a parking spot, pulled in and left the car running.
When Peter made no move to get out, Neal sighed and said, “I wish you would have given me more notice of a stakeout. I would have brought a book.”
“This isn’t a stakeout,” Peter said.
“Oh, thank God,” Neal said in a rush. He reached for the door handle, paused when Peter reached out to stop him.
“Stay in the car.”
Neal groaned. “Please don’t tell me you brought me out here to babysit your car.”
Peter shook his head. “We’re putting an end to this thing,” he said. “This kissing thing. Here and now.”
Neal didn’t expect the turn of conversation and his expression was blank for a solid fifteen seconds before he started to talk again. “Peter -“
“Let’s go, Caffrey,” Peter cut in, impatient to get it over with now that they were here. “We’ve got ten minutes. Go ahead and kiss me.”
“Peter,” Neal said again, only this time the tone could only be described as scandalized. “I don’t think this is appropriate, do you?”
“Oh, come on,” Peter said. “Nothing that has happened between us the past two days has been appropriate.” Peter looked at his watch then added, “Eight minutes.”
“You’re serious about this?” Neal asked. “You really want me to kiss you?”
“Seven minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Okay,” Neal said. “Stop counting.”
Peter lowered his watch. Neal reached out and pulled at Peter’s jacket and Peter cooperated, leaned across the center console toward Neal.
Neal checked Peter’s face one more time, paused to make sure Peter didn’t want to back out at the last minute.
“Neal,” Peter warned, but that was as far as he got before Neal leaned in and pressed his lips to Peter’s. They both froze there, stuck, mouths pressed awkwardly together, and then Neal slid his hand behind Peter’s neck, pulled him even closer, and began to kiss.
It took Peter longer than Neal to get a hold of himself. It took Peter a full twenty seconds of being kissed by Neal Caffrey before he remembered why he was doing this. Peter had to stay focused if he was going to make it work. Twenty seconds was enough time for Peter to tell that Neal was a very good kisser. Twenty seconds was plenty of time for Peter to realize that he was going to have to work hard to make this the most disappointing first kiss Neal’d ever had.
Peter started simple, refused to let the kiss find a pleasing rhythm. When Neal moved in, Peter pulled away and when Neal tried to follow Peter’s lead and pull back, Peter surged forward. Neal tried again and again to adjust his pace to match Peter, but Peter was ahead of him. He made sure to change course sporadically as soon as Neal caught up.
Peter needed this to be bad, but believable. It would never work if Neal caught on to the fact that he was doing it on purpose.
Neal seemed determined from the start. He patiently shifted when Peter’s nose bumped into his. When Peter moved so that their noses knocked a second time, Neal shifted again, reached up and held Peter’s head in place.
It wasn’t that Peter was entirely against the idea of kissing Neal. He could see some merits. Neal was a good kisser. He was smart, talented. He was certainly beautiful. And most importantly, Peter liked him. Peter had always liked him, even when Neal was busy slipping through Peter’s fingers, keeping Peter up nights, always one step ahead. Even then Peter had to admit, through the many layers of frustration, that he liked Neal.
None of that mattered now. What mattered was that they still had three years ahead of them. Another three years of Peter watching Neal’s every move, of keeping Neal out of trouble. More importantly, out of jail. Peter had a responsibility to Neal, just as much as Neal did to Peter, maybe moreso. This, wherever it might go, could not get in the way of the big picture. The big picture, in which Neal was not painted from behind bars.
Neal opened his mouth then and introduced his tongue to their kiss, pulling Peter back from his thoughts. Peter didn’t expect it, not right then, and for a moment Peter was stunned out of his mission. He felt the slide of Neal’s tongue against his and he squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to breathe.
It was Neal that brought him back. Neal made a noise, the sound a little too triumphant to Peter’s ears, a little too satisfied with himself, and it was exactly what Peter needed to hear to pull him back into the game.
Neal wanted tongue, so Peter gave him too much, used a few tips that he’d learned from Satchmo over the years. Neal gripped the back of Peter’s neck a little tighter, suffered through the tongue bath as he changed the angle of the kiss again. Eventually Neal regained the upper hand, managed to lock Peter in and sucked at Peter’s tongue.
Well, shit.
Peter’s entire body was thrumming with the wet hot pulse of Neal’s mouth. This had to end soon or Peter was going to give up, was going to willingly lose himself to the taste of Neal on his tongue.
Peter pressed his thigh hard into the center console, his arm into the seat cushion at an uncomfortable angle behind him. He concentrated on this new discomfort and it worked a little, just enough to keep him rational.
Once he managed to push back from the brink of an overload, Peter began to pull away from Neal. He had to change this, couldn’t handle the thrust of his tongue into Neal’s waiting mouth for much longer. Peter pulled away and Neal followed until Peter was forced to resort for his final weapon, their chins knocking as Peter surged forward and bit Neal’s tongue.
Neal made a muffled sound of pain and released Peter, covered his mouth with his hand.
“Sorry,” Peter said, displeased with the breathless quality to his voice. “I was going for - that was supposed to be a lip nibble.”
Neal made a face, probably because ‘lip nibble’ sounded ridiculous when said by Peter Burke.
“It’s okay,” Neal said, the words thick in his mouth. Neal sounded a little breathless too.
He reached for Peter and Peter almost panicked, but Neal was only going for his wrist. He turned it to check the time on Peter’s watch.
“Seven minutes are up,” Peter confirmed and didn’t point out that Neal could have checked the digital clock on the dashboard without going out of his way to touch Peter again.
Neal sat back in the passenger seat, opened his mouth as though trying to crack his jaw, and then turned back to face Peter.
“That was - “
“Yeah,” Peter agreed.
“You weren’t kidding,” Neal said, eyebrows raised.
“I never kid.”
“But you - Elizabeth -“
“I have many other good qualities,” Peter pointed out. He started the car.
Neal was quiet for a block or two and then said, “I could give you a few pointers if you - “
“Neal,” Peter interrupted. “No.”
Neal held up his hands in surrender.
There was another bout of silence, this time interupted when Neal said, “Wow," to the air between them.
Peter glanced over and watched as Neal ran a hand through his hair, his face still painted in disbelief, and okay, Peter was starting to get a little offended. He was starting to think that maybe his plan worked too well.
If not for the tracker around Neal’s ankle, if not for the FBI, Peter would be tempted to pull over right now and set the record straight. But this was what needed to happen. This was what was best for everyone. And beside all that, Peter had promised that if he ever kissed Neal again, Elizabeth would be there for it.
Peter was never kissing Neal again.
Back in the garage Peter watched as Neal tried to straighten his suit. Neal’s lips looked a little swollen and Peter had to turn away, check the state of his own attire. When he looked up again, Caffrey was watching him.
“You okay?” Peter asked.
“Yeah,” Neal said. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and smiled. “I was thinking maybe I should give Shelley a call. Try to fix things, reschedule the date.”
Peter nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah?” Neal pressed the button for the elevator, then held the door open for Peter, standing aside so that Peter could slide by.
“Yeah,” Peter confirmed as he punched the button for the twenty first floor.
They were passing the eighth when Peter heard Neal’s echo, a third “yeah,” low and contemplative.
**
“Well?” Elizabeth asked when she came home to find Peter hunched over his work at the dining room table.
“Well what?” Peter asked. He leaned back into her kiss when she bent down to greet him.
“You and Neal,” El prodded. “You promised me a full recap, remember?”
“Oh,” Peter teased. “That.” Elizabeth swatted the back of his head. “I took care of it.”
“You took care of Neal thinking about kissing you by kissing him?” Elizabeth asked, still not clear on the plan. She pulled out her chair from the head of the table and sat down, angled her body toward Peter. “How did that work?”
Peter shrugged. “I kissed Neal badly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I made him believe that Peter Burke is a terrible kisser.”
“I’m not going to want details on this, am I?” Elizabeth sighed.
Peter looked down at the files for his new case. Insurance.
“Neal’s good,” Peter admitted to the files. “I could have - Neal’s got kissing down. He knows how to make you want to kiss him again.”
“You want to kiss him again?” Elizabeth asked, and despite her suggestion the night before, she seemed genuinely surprised.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” Peter said. “I bit his tongue. He’s probably sitting at home right now wondering how I’ve managed to hold on to such a beautiful, talented, intelligent woman for eleven years without knowing how to kiss her.” Peter smiled the satisfied smile of a job well done.
El smiled too and leaned forward in her chair to kiss Peter again.
“It must have been difficult,” Elizabeth said between kisses. “To pretend to be bad at something you’ve always been so good at.”
“Not always,” Peter countered.
“I didn’t know you when you were fifteen. It doesn’t count.”
Peter shrugged and shifted his chair closer to her, his knees on either side of her thighs.
Elizabeth set her hands on his knees, then scrunched up her face. She was formulating a question and Peter waited patiently for her to finish and spit it out.
“I’m not trying to put a dent in your armor, but Neal is nothing if not observant. You’re sure he didn’t see through you?”
“He bought it,” Peter assured her, tried not to remember Neal’s offer to teach Peter to kiss, the lingering desire to show Neal that the lessons weren’t actually needed at all.
“Oh,” Peter remembered then. “And he has a date.”
“Neal met someone?”
“A certain Shelley, daughter of a long time friend of June’s.”
“You looked into her,” El guessed.
“Not yet.”
“Peter - “
“I know, I know.”
Elizabeth took his face in her hands, turned him so that he had no choice but to look her in the eye. She held his gaze and eventually, apparently satisfied that Peter didn’t plan to start running the background check that very evening, El released him with a pat on the cheek.
“So a girlfriend for Neal and and no more dreams about the boss.”
“I think Neal has been cured,” Peter confirmed. “All in a day’s work.”
“Good,” El said, but Peter heard a hint of a question in her voice. He chose to ignore it. Good was exactly correct.
**
That night Peter dreamed about Neal.
Neal stood before Peter with a bottle of beer in one hand, a bowl of chips in the other. Peter could hear the game, but from his spot on his sofa he couldn’t seem to find it. Not without taking his eyes from Neal. Peter wasn’t ready for that. The game could wait.
“This is a dream,” Peter concluded aloud, as though spotting it would win him some kind of prize. He knew because Neal was wearing jeans and an old Mets t-shirt. He looked casual and relaxed. He looked like he forgot to put product in his hair.
“I forgot to tell you earlier,” Neal said, smiling as he set the bowl of chips on the table. He leaned over Peter, arms on either side of Peter’s shoulders, propped against the back of the couch.
Peter had already forgotten that he was supposed to remember that this was all a dream. He kissed Neal, knew it couldn’t get more real. Peter let his mouth fall open against Neal’s lips, accepted the slide of Neal’s tongue and used his own to ask for more. Neal shifted over him, climbed onto the couch until he was straddling Peter, kneeling over him.
Neal leaned down to nuzzle at Peter’s neck and Peter opened his eyes, caught sight of Elizabeth watching them from the dining room. She saw him looking over Neal’s shoulder and waved him away, indicated with her hands and her mouth that right now she’d rather have him kissing Neal than paying attention to her.
Peter lifted his arms from the couch, rested them on Neal’s hips instead. Neal’s cologne was sharp in Peter’s nose. He reached up and pulled Neal back, reclaimed Neal’s mouth. Neal’s answering moan poured into Peter’s throat and Peter thought, I told you so. I told you I was good at this. And then he remembered that Neal had been the one trying to tell him something.
He broke away from the kiss, had to stop Neal from moving back in with a restraining hand to Neal’s shoulder. Neal’s eyes were heavy and his lips were wet from Peter’s mouth. Peter swallowed hard and searched to find his voice.
“What did you forget to tell me?” Peter asked. “You said, earlier. You said you forgot to tell me something.”
Neal shrugged and leaned back in, smiled against Peter’s mouth, blue eyes so close that Peter felt like if he tried, he could see to the very center of Neal.
“It’s nothing,” Neal said. The words buzzed, vibrated against Peter’s lips. I just forgot to tell you that it’s contagious.”
Peter wanted to ask what, but he couldn’t. His mouth was consumed, his brain and his heart, too busy kissing Neal Caffrey to remember the question.